The holidays are chocolate,
Like nectar on the first square.
Days piled up to mountain ranges,
With heady scents of dizzy sugar promises.
And the whole week, expectant
In my waiting palm.

I eat like the starving
My mouth sours with greed
And my throat is thick with time.
Time gulped and wasted and sickening.
Compelled by addiction to continue
Hewing the diminished peaks.

And then all that remains
Is the corner of weekend
That reluctantly melts itself out
In the cradle of my tongue. Bittersweet.
And the excess floods the cracks
Of my famished lips.