On Sweetness

I am slipping the sieve of myself

Melting like warm honey

Spreading across the kitchen table

Reckless, somehow still sweet

I’m not all spilled

Some stickiness left at the bottom of

The jar, despite many spoonfuls

Scooped out by men along the way

Most dragged their hands through me

Then licked their fingers clean

Thinking not of what they took

But of what was gained

Frozen blackberries

Hardened but sweet

Traces of jasmine summer left over

Still indulgent and thick in kindness

Like honey, and the sun’s beams

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