The Beekeeper

His name was Nikolai
He asked me about bee’s
“Bee’s”, I replied
Confused by his boyish face
And his salt and peppered hair
Which came twenty years too early

I studied him while he talked
I almost forgot it was cold outside
Until I noticed the goosebumps
On his otherwise smooth golden-brown skin

Nothing about him made sense to me
I wanted nothing more than to offer him a warm place to hide from the cold
So I could get a better sense of who he was
But at that particular moment
It would have been wildly inappropriate to even suggest friendship
Maybe another time-Another place
He intrigued me like very few do

In a strictly platonic wonderment
I wanted to conquer his mind
And learn his secrets
Then his cell rang
And he was gone

Lost forever to me
I only knew his name
The golden-brown Beekeeper


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