Happiness won't take turns -- edit 1

[RiverNotch]

Time to contract, to burn lower. Beat the heart slower.
Its stimulated skin peels and its stomach sours.
The bee has pulled out but it's still unfurled,
heated and female, amped and aching.

Title a mystery in both the religious and the common sense.
First line oozes sex -- I imagine two loving souls now finishing, now merging at last into the truth of their being, into the one divine hermaphroditic amorphous whole.
Second line oozes sex, although with stomach sours, there's a sense of something else going on, something more violent. I just hate the fact that there's two possessive pronouns there, my impulse to break things bugging me to ask for apostrophes -- isn't there a cleaner way?
Third line finally clarifies the image: now, sex is shown to be a memory, or at least a metaphor. But the first half is a little too clinical, with the relatively plain "pulled out", and the second half better shows the preceding line's weakness. Sure, the "it"s are unambiguous, but at this point, with everything else being so direct, they just feel like failures of the artist to find better words -- "it" may clearly refer to "bee", but it seems that for each use of "it", a different, if worded differently more interesting, aspect of the bee's existence is being referred to.
Fourth line, however, with its return to individual images, returns to brilliance. Now I see the unison of the first line being inverted, the subtlety of the second line being crystallized -- the title, ultimately, being revealed. My interpretation is that with this inversion of roles, with the female bee (always) doing the stinging, the language that constructed it suddenly betrays it, suddenly casts it out of paradise: however equal the female is in the act, still, if it is to be righteous, she must be below, as the male must be on top. Which is, of course, ultimately oppressive, in a way that destroys any true sense of bliss or righteousness in the act. Lovely, lovely poem.