got a bottle of sugar at my side
down the urban watering hole
i take a spoon and sift it out
brain talk finally seems to slow
red pigment on my fingertips
neck bent to see the prose
lines deepen in between the brow
when the sun lifts up my eyes
but not when i got you, sugar
when it's good it's only smiles
all the rain you bring down
goes to the back of the file
longing and nonsense when i turn to you
the bones in my wrist are corroding now
the poet confesses to the poet
couldn't figure out what you were about
