–There’s too much sugar in his coffee, granules clinging to the rim of his mug, tongue chasing sticky sweet shine on his lips. He has too much sugar in his body, a thrum from his mind to his fingertips, a constant loop of syrupy words from his mouth, a fidget of his hips– eyes shifting and catching and lighting with energy.
–I am dark coffee, I am bitter and cling to the back of the tongue, I am a focus and a tremor after the edge of sleep. They only want me if I’m less, if they can dilute me.
– I have two scoops of his sugar in my arms now, a hand for each, granules compacted into little cubes that I can hold. There is a sweetness that has chased the acid in my belly.
– Together we have started a violent thrum. He is sugar sweet, decaying the toughest parts of me.