Slow Slide of Dark Sweetness

Molasses drips thick,

reluctant as my own resolve,

sticking to the edges of a chipped plate.

I hold the jar like a stubborn truth,

tilting it slow, careful not to lose control.

Dark liquid pools, a sticky confession

that crawls over ceramic, slow and sure.

Days press down like heavy syrup,

thick with hesitation, stuck in the groove

between moving forward and standing still.

The pour never quickens,

refusing to rush like my impatient heart.

A sweet weight clings to my fingers —

thick with everything I don’t say.