Nov 23
 
 

Making Candy for the First Time

Nervous mother to the butter and sugar in the pan,
I press the thermometer to its lips again,
waiting for the fever to break.  It’s a harsh science,
the slap of a newborn’s ass to make it cry.
The sugar pops and whines.  The smoke
scratches my eyes, burns through skin. 

When we slept together for the first time,
it was less something we made than something tamed.
We whipped tiny lions of desire between our legs,
gnawing at each other’s hips.  And now the cats
seething in the pan.  You churning in my apron. 
Hot enough to scar.  Domestic as smashed glass.