Cold metal on skin;
I lean in and partake
in a shuffled, incessant dance
that soothes me.
My liquorice is a thrumming
bag of endeavour
that I share gladly.
Make me well!
Make me sweet!
a frown attests,
and I prefer the
vibrant red to the black;
these garner more frowns
and a tentative poke before I
I rummage fingers to
gather more bunches
of sweetness, for me and
all I know.
They yield mixed results.
Be sweet still, my love!
Handfuls replace handfuls
and we are on our way
as a bell chimes.


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