At the center of my core, I feel a pull for vengeance to pour.

Who touched and pulled out virtue while stirring and trying to disturb you?

A Golden Kettle with black soot, charcoaled and sticking to you.

Lifted by the flames of a hot open fire flame, burning and crackling through.

Left to gather evidence of the fingerprints of greedy youths.

Searching for succulent fruit, pressed and hovering over you.

Some peeked in, others tread fingertips and tried to skim my glaze.

To the insides of my, Golden Honey Pot is lavender, Jasmine, and clove root.

Cinnamon, Orange, Hybiscus, and SourSap leaves too.

Honey boiling in a pot can’t be easily consumed, so I keep my blue fire flames burning 3,000 degrees hot from the front view.

Sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.

An excess of honey will rupture and torment the soul that vomits as it cleaves to you.

Searching the soul and seeping in to uncover the truth.

To those seeking their own glory, this honey will be helpfully harmful to you.

More desirable than gold, yes more than much fine gold is you.

Sweet Honey drips across chapped bare lips.

A sated man loathes foreign honey.

For in due season a man cultivates his delicate honeycomb fruit.

While slowly watching his honey pot boil brew.

To a famished man, anything bitter seems sweet to you.

So pardon me as I toss in mint leaves.

Herbs are for the healing of the soul.

I’ve started with mine, to boost immunity and neuroplasticity.

The consumption story of a Golden Honey Bee.

Watch and be careful of who consumes you.

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