You can't wind back the clock
When it has melted in your hands;
And to sizzle the hollow hearts of starving artists,
Feed them riddles you kept
In the empty space behind your cheek.

We won't die of thirst, if we are
Standing in puddles filled by crocodile's tears,
Softly soaking our shins,
We dissolve.
Like sugar in steaming sweet tea,
We dissolve,
But we leave a tease
For sweet tooths.

-Jamie F. Nugent