Knees Of My Bees

We share a culture; same vernacular love of physical humor

And time spent alone

You with your penchant for spontaneous advents

For sticky unrests be unearthed and then gone



You are a gift, renaissance with a wink

With tendencies for conversations that raise bars

You are a sage who is fueled by compassion

Comes to nooks and crannies, as balm for all scars



You make the knees of my bees weak

Tremble and buckle

You make the knees of my bees weak



You are a spirit that knows of no limit

Who knows of no ceiling, who balks at dead ends

You are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers

Not seduced by illusion or fair-weathered friends



You make the knees of my bees weak

Tremble and buckle

You make the knees of my bees weak



You are a vision who lives by the signals

Of stomach and intuition as your guide

You are a sliver of God on a platter

Who walks what he talks and who cops when he's lied



You make the knees of my bees weak

Tremble and buckle

You make the knees of my bees weak



You make the knees of my bees weak

Tremble and buckle

You make the knees of my bees weak