Amber Lacquer

Back behind the rusty tweezers,

a half-full bottle, squat and plain.

The label, peeling, promised hold,

a perfect set, impervious to rain.

But inside, the liquid, thick and dark,

had gone beyond its prime.

A petrified sun, a viscous mark

against the dust of time.

I tilted it. It hardly flowed.

A syrupy cough from the plastic spout.

Smelled like forgotten prom nights,

like the cheap perfume you couldn't do without.

It was supposed to be clear, clean, bright.

But time, it turns everything to rot.

This amber, it wasn't jewel-like.

Just a sticky, fossilized thought.