sweet tea ice clinks
while my head rests in my hands
spinning thoughts
upon crazy worries and dark images
like the thick, brown syrup
tangling a sunken, frozen cube
upon the sweating bottom
of a glass half-empty,
and i tearfully wonder
if this is the madness she suffered
if this is the mania he endured
or if i am simply imagining
being saturated by gloom
in some feeble attempt
to stir time backwards
so i can embrace them again
in honeyed, sugar kisses,
and stick them to me
permanently, forever.
