It took us a month to make the sugar syrup.
We kept getting it wrong and pouring it down the drain,
creating a horizon of icicle-sweet stalactites in the underground
caverns of our plumbing.
We took turns at drinking it and pouring it over
ourselves, watching in wonder as it solidified into a crystalline
covering. If we dipped our hands in the vat, we had
saccharine gloves. If we traced our lips indulgently with our
whitened fingers, we had lips that had been kissed by snow.
We’d clench our knuckles, and crack
the sugar coating,
flaking the kitchen with drops of sucrose
that melted on the tongue. It looked like restaurant-candle wax -
the kind where you slowly twist the candle, delicious,
scalding and tempting,
onto your fingers and then snap your thumb and middle finger
with satisfaction, enjoying
the break of cool air onto red skin. Except for this syrupy mixture
cooled instantly, and glinted dimly and humbly
like old jewellery over our palms.

a/n~ sugar syrup is not this hard to make.