​Short poem

You can keep the mirage of my skin on the tip of your finger. Picking what to see each day, craving parts of me that you haven’t seen. But once you touch honey you won’t know how potent it’ll be. Making you addicted to more bees. An endless cycle of flower picking. When will you learn you just need water and a seed. – strawbrymind (my pen name)

Let me know if it’s good or not