This love is an extended metaphor,
perhaps claiming that a bumblebee
is a cumulus cloud (or, indeed, the other way round)
—both too heavy to hang as they do in the sky,
great weights oblivious to gravity,
and with an air of steady certainty
that they are keeping the world ticking over,
a self-assured busyness
from which we must forever be distant.
It is all bright images at first,
suddenness and new discoveries—
the coming together of two things
so different and so alike.
Exploring our creation,
we go further, delve deeper,
observing how both cloud and bee,
though bold, though bulky,
are, at the same time, delicate,
fragile, intricate; we imagine
how implausibly soft they must be,
how they can be overlooked
by people who do not take the time
to appreciate the world.
We spread into other senses,
begin to lose the ambiguity
of what was started with such nonchalance.
And it is here we start to falter,
here that I say thunder is the bee's buzzing
and lightning its sting, that honey
is a rainstorm after drought—
for you point out that bumblebees
do not make honey, and it is
cumulonimbus clouds that are
associated with storms.
We are shaken, but continue regardless,
go back to something already ascertained:
both hover with such apparent ease,
both drift on summer zephyrs—
but here, again, we lose our way
as I remind us both that the bee
must beat its wings to stay afloat,
while the cloud is merely buoyant.
We pause, doing our best to think
of some unused comparison,
and, in our pausing, it grows ever clearer
that this love is an extended metaphor,
and bumblebees are simply not clouds.
Even though I never manage to stick with extended metaphors properly...
Lovely piece of work!
Thank you! Your comments are so lovely! 
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Critiques
The poem begins tentatively, stating one's intentions, with no false pretenses, much like the way a true, romantic courtship is begun. The narrator remarks with quiet admiration the simple seeming state of things: "the coming together of two things/ so different and so alike." It is a love story in three parts, and this is the seemingly innocuous beginning.
It's a rhythmic flow of words, chosen carefully, and it reflects the thoughtfulness of the narrator- he wants to be careful with his precious love. I love the sometimes rhyme in the second stanza. "...both could and bee/ though bold, though bulky/ are, at the same time, delicate/ fragile, intricate." The narrator weaves his words like a lighthearted song, one of first love.
"We begin to lose our ambiguity/ of what started with such nonchalance." Without breaking the flow, the second act begins. It is the time of doubt, the time of asking oneself what you're really getting into, and the lovers become fearful.
But it ends well, the lovers pull through, with grace and fluid alliteration. And the end is tweaked, the great irony revealed- love is not a metaphor. Love is love, and it something that can only be experienced. in this poem, it is with sincereity, and an air of sweet reminiscence.
The only suggestion that I'd like to put forth, is that the second party, the "you" in the poem, be addressed or referred to somehow in the first stanza. It jumps from an apparent third person POV to talking about "we"- the narrator addressing his/her love. This may throw off the reader a tad, since at first the readers may assume they are being addressed directly, when this is in fact not the case.
Incidentally, I personally enjoyed the fact that the specifics about the two in love weren't made a point of. It could be two children or older adults, a man and woman or men and women, and nothing would need to change. It's the story of love that is a part of the human experience, and it has a nice clean resolution.
Also, the ending mentions simplicity, mirroring or echoing the beginning simplicity of entering the love, being naive, and turning it into some serendipity.
All in all, and excellent poem.
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