Her Poetry: Honey

Honey

Honey, down in the depths of the pot

It stops if you reach its core

The glistening dulls to a mucusy blot

That clogs to rot in the back of your throat

It turns to dregs but the barrel is bare –

You licked it clean of its salt.

 

The hand that grabs is met with a snare

But the fingers that linger are forever without

They open and close like the mouth of a fish

Gaping at bubbles of air

You swallow at rocks ’til your body is sick

But you know that the hunger’s still there.