Aakriti Kuntal writes

Whirr

A bumblebee
whirrs
It has its triangular wings

in the mouth of air

Slipping through past, present and time,
a bumblebee whirrs

Drifting through the condensed pores of air
Here,

a light, a breeze as bright
and sharp–
as a fang

The bones tuned to the orchestra,
grimly watch the shedding

dust, the quarters of lost sunrays
The bumblebee,

alone, marching in solidarity,
with no purpose,
only desire, desire both sweet and heavy

desire, invisible yet palpable
bursting similarly at the seams of my fingers

The bumblebee,
bright in the eye,

a spark shifting in space

above the abode of fuchsia flowers,
their homely heads
submerged in a permanent vacation from earth;
surrendered to the foaming winds
in the last of days

The bumblebee,
bright, sharp
snipping the air, cutting it into bosoms of longing

Until one catches the other
and other leaves another
And the body,
both seamless and restless
is cut and unified

in a long, nameless song

 Bumblebee -- Victoria Trok