if you were a boiled sweet
my candy crush
you would be a gobstopper
or a humbug
and
I would take you onto my tongue
and clatter you between my teeth
caressing you
bathing you in spittle
and I would
suck the sweet heart of you
and my saliva would turn to syrup
and ease down my throat
to that spot
that never feels satisfied
and you at last
would fill me
with sugary satisfaction
but if you were a boiled sweet
and I did this
you would gradually
dissolve in my mouth
and smaller and smaller
would you become
I would still feel you against my raw cheeks
and fear the grip you had on my teeth
I would sense
where sugar had burned
and mint
and spice
burrowed into me
but then
there would be nothing
of you left
except the sticky gloss
on my lips
and the small
speck of aniseed
that I would hold
at times
between my incisors
until I lost it somewhere
rolling around
at the back of my tongue
just a small gritty speck left
that
and the sweet memory
of my inexorable
sucking
