Honey

Each sip of tea
was a honeyed kiss, sweet and warm,
bathing my tongue
as I admired the vast selection of books you offered me
on a lazy Saturday with nothing to do for once.
Everyone left and the only sound
was the clinking of my spoon in my cup
and the breath of me, you, and the dog at my feet
who thought I had something delicious to offer.
I indeed was full of delicious offers but a book was just as good
and I read about Mayans I think,
or perhaps it was the Amazon, or Indonesia.
I don't remember the words but I remember
showing you pictures of a forest
which you declared beautiful
and smiled shyly at the book and at me.
I finished my tea and ate the extra honey in the bottom with my spoon
and then I think I kissed you, but
I can't recall well because my mind loses clarity
with the taste of your honey in my mouth.