She swore, never
Ever, to make it sweet
Much sweetness had passed
Caramel mush, both
Honeyed and salted
Firming up to cloying
Treacly… then sickly enough;
To let a bit of bitterness creep in.
The inviting aroma
Of a honeyed attachment
No longer soothed.
But the sticky-ness wouldn’t let her be.
That fabled fly in the honey pot.
Gluttonous yes, satiated too soon.
Scared to let the pot be
For who else might come by….
And so, as he drew himself closer,
Deeper, more madly yet, drinking
He could never guess how lonely
He’d get, when finally,
That Honey Pot, gave in.
Shattered, into slivers of sweetness.
That drew blood, when she tasted, off him.
09 April, 2018, Day#9 of #NaPoWriMo – as surreal and nonsensical as it gets.