Untitled (Sugar)

The light in your living room is too
dim to make out the smile-lines
(narrower, surely, than the strokes of
sugar you keep hidden
beneath your coffee-table) that have been
teasing your temples since 6:45.
You won’t look at me
anyway, head bowed in genuflection,
praying that when you finally look
up, I’ll still have your Turkish Royal
wedged between my teeth and won’t wait
to follow you back to your bed.