• she likes sweets, and drowns in the savoring

    "comfort" warm and cookies have to
    wait 'til Christmas, mother says sternly
    but she can't help herself, the cream filling
    the sugar-doting tarts
    the crystallized tears of angels
    melting with snow on her tongue
    (why would angels cry salt?) she demands, indignant
    to her closet and drawers, because she was too afraid
    to share her saccharine existence with anyone else

    the chocolate-covered cherries are like the secrets of her mind
    never to be told to anyone, instead they have to be
    cracked open and spilled over hot coals
    (your tongue slipped, burnt a hole in my heart)
    and they crunch with dull cracks under the pressure of molars
    her honeyed eyes lost out a glazed window
    lips wrap around the crinkling plastic and the Candy Witch
    doesn't care that she's crying sweet things again

    the "comfort" is dripping down her skin
    butter-mellow to look at, fawning over her is a waste
    her white chocolate thighs have no use for anything but white chocolate
    and her cloying scent is an ambrosia of boredom
    her sweets are swallowing her whole (the town is laughing)
    spicy cinnamon, waiting to sting, its been lost in the nectar
    euphoric, she eats, watches the world pass her by
    sighs and throws another wrapper into the trash
    she can't wait for Christmas after all
    the candied fruits and dark pudding creams are calling for her

    her life is rotting like her teeth