Sweet Dreams

When my eyes are candy-creams
and wrapped up in their box,
their heated, glacÚ sugar-sheens
will ooze their sticky drops.

When my legs are liquorice-sticks
and bundled in a bag,
your sweetest, reddest candy-kiss
won't bring their supple back.

When my blood is turned to sherbet
and fizzes in my veins,
I'll crackle slowly in my bed
as sweetness all-pervades.

When my body's gingerbread
and my eyes are frosted-to,
do not cry with cloven breath
just let me crumble so.

Nigel Holt

If you've any comments on this poem, Nigel Holt would be pleased to hear from you.