Molasses

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A spoonful of molasses

It touches my tongue
Sweet, sweet
Cloying
It is saccharine
It is syrup, clinging
To my taste buds

Sugary, gritty
Granules scratching
My throat to rawness
Yet I can only swallow
More
More

The aftertaste is bitter
Stale
So I go back for more
To smother the sickness
It leaves behind

Venomous sorghum
Poison of nectarous treacle
But my supply is boundless
And I take another
Spoonful

The sweetness
Burns my throat





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