The sun is going down, beautiful winged sister.
But this night you will not look toward the hive.
This night, spread out in an isolation
conducted by fate, nectar and the wind,
you and yours will spill a testament into the wet grass.
Alone from her chamber a queen will wander
out into the desert beyond hierarchy, and die.
I will stay with you for a while.
Tell me of empty combs.
I will tell you of powerless words.
Compañera, they no longer read what we write upon the walls
as the centrifuge spins our sweetness against the steel.
The smell of a vacant hive hangs about our words.
We have forgotten how to worry power.
I will pass this night with you sister
until you speak deep surrender into the soil,
though it is hard to see you end.
Your rage unspent.
Your sting — bayonet sharp — unused.
When you have passed and the dawn comes I will go back.
I am not ready to lie with you just yet.
Rage unspent.
Words — bayonet sharp — unused.
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