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.