MELITA
The honeybee youth could recall those same moments; when she’d found the little gourd in the shadows, in the midst, a leftover, a stray, a survivor like her, living on despite the rest of its brethren being slaughtered, as she lifted her fingers, fresh meat in her grasp, a gentle coaxing for one too savage. Overwhelming, maybe overbearing, new nuances and foreign dialects, comprised, eventually, into their singular selves; one and the same, a blending of backgrounds, histories, and antics – her wild, savage, untamed smile said it all. Even if she didn’t know half of the things he’d done; it really didn’t matter in the end, the little griffin would beckon, twist, and turn from within, and Sunjata would either linger on those throes or accept them. The well hovered there, and she waited for something – for him to bristle or condemn, for him to shrug or frown, for him to merely take it on, dream a little more out in the open, in sacred ethers and tethers, lines meant to be consecrated and anointed, not disheveled, not disparaged. At the admission, at the hushed rumble, at the modicum of acceptance, her grin grew a little cheekier, a little more hopeful, that perhaps all wouldn’t be for naught. "It's okay," she ushered and whispered, comfort in the sanctity of fledgling bonds. "It's different, but it'll be okay."The notion of holding onto the precious little thing drew an excited squeal from her throat, and while Fangorn clustered around her ankles, as curious as his companion, the youth extended her hands, her arms out to cherish. “Absolutely!” Even the name, Korofi again, Haai, shark enamel and fangs, and she wondered about teeth, about maws stretching open and wide to protect, to defend, to maul, and massacre, the lightest of chuckles on her breath. “She’ll grow into it,” she winked and assured – understood how mighty things developed, how they prospered, how they blossomed, how they bloomed.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
