The Honey Jar

My Aunt was a beekeeper. When I would visit during hot Georgia summers she always had a pretty jar of honey on her kitchen window sill above the sink. The suns rays would stream through the amber liquid and make a rainbow of sorts on the stark white porcelain of her wash basin. I always wanted big spoonfuls of it. The taste was sweet, exquisite. I loved the way it slowly ran down my throat from the tip of my tongue, traces of it's sweetness left on my lips. My aunt shooing me away from devouring the entire jar--explaining to me in soft serious tone how much work went into making the honey and that it should be used sparingly, with care and savored. The more she educated me on the gathering of various nectar by the bees whose work to accomplish this so cost them their lives.....the more I wanted a silver spoon and the entire jar.

I think it is human nature to desire so deeply what one cannot have completely. Much like the honey jar. Little tastes aren't enough. There is always the desire of wanting more.

Like the lover you meet in secret and in dark places. Loving the way they taste going down your throat from the tip of your tongue. Their sweetness left on your lips. 

Forbidden. Delicious.

You linger in shady corners with your silver spoon devouring what should be savored.