Across mean years i lost my taste for sugar;
my childhood sank, thickly encased in sugar.

Go, i said, you have no further claim
on these poor bones, your kiss a waste of sugar.

The garden was a dream of riot run
in which we lay, our thirsts replaced with sugar.

City rose upon city, each droll layer
marked at the point its populace embraced sugar.

Graywyvern turned in the dappled labyrinth
to see ants hefting his pathway traced in sugar.