A bee nearly killed me.
Fourteen years of shots I got!
It’s something special about me,
The odd flower. . .
The negligee leapt from the ledge.
The bouquet came to grief beside the recycling.
So much you gave me I couldn’t use.
“‘Special’?” You were amused.
Naked, sneezing, rubbing my bad eyes,
foolish, distinctly afflicted, that’s
how I loved you.