by Taylor Byas Batu Gezer honey mustard and regret it because it was your favorite. Just last month or the month before, honey mustard tear- dropping into your beard as we ate on your leather couch, the sauce like a thick dusting of pollen over the bramble. And you, a first sign of spring. Then my thumb braving the sharper bristles to catch what begged for your white t-shirt. Your teeth caught my finger, nipped its pad before I could return it to my own tongue to taste you. M