Sugar and Ice

I am comprised almost entirely of water.

I am broken.

I am the color
of ripe pumpkins and
navels and
sweet potatoes and
poppies and
excitement.

Nestled
in cardboard,
clothed
in plastic packaging.

I am
warm
in my frozen
manmade bed.

I am cloaked in crystal negligee.

I am fragile,
filled with amusement.

A fruitless backbone.
A fruity center.

I am tasty.

I am halfway eaten and

dripping,
sticking,
slipping,
sweating.

The sun's sultry breath trickling down my spine.
Her vicious blaze robbing me of my composure.

Slip
Drip
Dropsicle.

I am burning refreshment.
I am the good kind of pain.
I am cool, audacious –
glistening serenely under
her smoldering scowl.

With each bite
I am made more whole.

The bone of your teeth ripping,
tearing through my tendons and
my artificial flavors.
Caressing vital organs.
I am falling, and I
have
hit
the ground.

I am fractured.
Bleeding.

The jealous sun seeks her revenge,
searing my torso with her envious glare.

I am seeping,
salivating.

I am running
from my own body
and I
am utterly free.

I am
tyrannous, constant and
cascading over a forest of
beetles and grass and anthills.

Swirling and slicing and merciless.
I am both worshipped and feared.
I am burrowing deep inside the earth.
I am carried home to feed
millions of children.

I am dragged below
to comfort the afflicted.
I am sustenance.

I have found my faith.