On Tenterhooks

This restlessness won't leave me, it buzzes about my chest as though it were a field of daisies waiting to be pollinated by a swarm of fretful bees who sting like honed pebbles but never die At night, I can hear the daffodils whimpering from my windowsill, they reach for me with limp limbs, I feed them honey spit on their soil and read a poem from my diary but they're still ill at ease so we count stars wishing one might fall through our fluttering hearts