The bees made honey in the lion’s skull.
Such saccharine sweetness,
Sticky to the bone.
Flesh and sugar
Blood and bees
The strong has become the weak
The hunter has become the meek.

Iron and honey seep into white,
staining away the life that used to be.
A hive in the head,
no heart to behold,
passing weeks have let this skeleton grow cold.
All that remains is a ghost.

Out of the eater, something to eat.
Out of the strong, something sweet.

The bees made honey,
and the lion hunts no more.