The Opposite Of Feeling

The opposite of butterflies
is the hive, dead in your stomach.
Is having to birth the dead bees.
When sunlight comes and you
think only of what new thing will
die, today. In the thick of my legs
I pull in to find the nerves, to
shake them awake before the night
comes, before I make pretend of coming,
so the bees that still live there may be
less lonely. What piece of that
warm hum will crackle off tonight, crawl
out from where we put ourselves
to bed, once? When you do not
feel like your body is erupting from
the overwhelm of wings, you will
feel like something large and
whole died inside you. And, as if
it had tried to come out, you will find its
arms mangled too close to the surface.
You will touch its fingers to yours. You
will think maybe, like an animal,
it tried to go home to die. The inside of
bodies like me, is no home.