Sticky Confessions

The taste of the tube, a memory clings,

slathering secrets as innocence sings.

A greasy reminder of childhood's embrace,

in the playground whispers, I’d find my place.

Friendships like summer, sweet sunlight, it’s true,

but chapped lips carry stories, too sticky to rue.

The lid barely hanging on—time’s cruel disguise,

those afternoons linger, where the laughter lies.