Extracting Honey

It is a non-stop shifting of slimy honey covered everything. The smell of honey fills every pore, the acid rots my teeth as I can't resist a perfect piece of the most raw sugar ever and continue to stuff my mouth, chewing the wax cells like bubble-gum. A two inch clear plastic pipe connects the centrifuges and pumps and vats, this two inches of honey, a never-ending stream, pushes through a remarkable contraption that is bound to overflow onto the floor at least a few times a day. This is a scale unimaginable to me, too big for the islands' mouths, a scale destined for cargo containers disappearing into the fog.