Candy Witch

she likes sweets, and drowns in the savoring

"comfort" warm and cookies have to
wait 'til Christmas, mother says sternly
but she can't help herself, the cream filling
the sugar-doting tarts
the crystallized tears of angels
melting with snow on her tongue
(why would angels cry salt?) she demands, indignant
to her closet and drawers, because she was too afraid
to share her saccharine existence with anyone else

the chocolate-covered cherries are like the secrets of her mind
never to be told to anyone, instead they have to be
cracked open and spilled over hot coals
(your tongue slipped, burnt a hole in my heart)
and they crunch with dull cracks under the pressure of molars
her honeyed eyes lost out a glazed window
lips wrap around the crinkling plastic and the Candy Witch
doesn't care that she's crying sweet things again

the "comfort" is dripping down her skin
butter-mellow to look at, fawning over her is a waste
her white chocolate thighs have no use for anything but white chocolate
and her cloying scent is an ambrosia of boredom
her sweets are swallowing her whole (the town is laughing)
spicy cinnamon, waiting to sting, its been lost in the nectar
euphoric, she eats, watches the world pass her by
sighs and throws another wrapper into the trash
she can't wait for Christmas after all
the candied fruits and dark pudding creams are calling for her

her life is rotting like her teeth