lovers hog all the loving.
no rest, none left, by the time the weary’ve travelled
the many paths before they sleep, snowed-in,
no caked-in sugar baked well in hungry ovens
blissfully naive of all the sweetness taken
molten, out of the mouths of babes.
what wrath can the spurned enact?
there’s no legislative logical path
besides passing the peace pipe
or admitting you’re fucked up, in spades.
so suck it up. there’s no civil action taken
upon being awakened
to the baked goods from which
you’re forbidden from partaking-
both scammer and conned,
smoking and non.
i say bring out the leeches.
let me bleed out the sweetless.