honey bee — [J]

it’s worrying
when
into the present
leaks
the future
scent

smelling the aroma
from when
you die

perhaps it’s the gentle perfume
of the spring flowers
you land on
when thrown out
of the colliding car

perhaps it’s the sharp edge
of the anaesthetic
when the surgeon
fails
to save you

perhaps it’s a lie
just the present
tormenting again