By Roshni Riar, Staff Writer
I gather your words in my hands, fists clenched
around their shape. They leak out from my fingers,
fresh picked blackberries I press into jam
between my palms. I lap at the mess,
mouth stained. Your juice dribbles down
my chin. I’m desperate to consume the sounds you
make just for me. Your sweet
nothings get caught in my teeth and I refuse
to floss. I taste your sugar on my tongue.
Canker sores line my mouth, budding angrily
with lust. I bite down on the pain to bring you closer.
When I close my eyes, you shimmer in a field
of white, honey skin begs me to get caught in
you, a fly in a trap. The picture plays on a loop
against the backs of my eyelids while I sleep. I wake
up drenched, simple syrup pooling between my
sticky thighs. A shameful, saccharine mess.
It takes its toll, the way you hooked me onto your
sweet. My stomach bunches and throbs at the
sound of your voice. Your sweetness makes me
sick but I get the shakes if I can’t have you.