a little touch, melting
as all good things, remembered  
only as sensation:  
the walls and the floor stir on and on  

to dissolve without melting, a small (aq) at the side  
but to release? too much and too little held  
too little to hold, a useless spoon
it drips into a stillborn flow

I serve my everything on a table:
gateaux and layers, any more than bread  
you have to take something, there’s no nothing to refuse
you can’t be refusal, even that is served
you can’t be full, you need to be hungry

you can’t be nothing,  
please don’t be nothing

I lie when I say I want you free,
In a cage, maybe,
dissolute in my precious vial  

no, melting is different  
I want solid things! I only complain about my state because I’m secure in it!  
and there’s no significance to early Thursday breakfasts which I didn’t fold in myself
I miss the sugar you gave to my batter;
it’s cloying when I do it,  

I missed Thursday and now it’s Friday  
but I still want Thursday till Friday curdles  
lined in rows of half-empty cups
the unrisen mix of every lost morning:

flour & water, basic lifeblood,  
glutinous river molding  
the great mound of delicacy:  
things burn left in the oven too long, even sugar
especially sugar