There’s something about his love that makes me think of black treacle
The way it sticks and clings, and seeps, slinking through every pour
And I’m never quite sure whether I should delight in its sweetness
For something always holds me back, this sugar is a dark one
I knew it even before this begun, that I could take it, gorge on it,
My teeth stuck together, bound by toffee, me, in his power
The threat of his malice and cruelty, seeping through to my thighs.

If I stop and think, I’ve never got a clear shot at his eyes, I mean
To look into them, to pull apart the curtains and peer, deeper, deeper,
Perhaps it is my fear that has held me back, or he holds himself from me,
The lace net drapes quiver, the blinds are rolled down, I cannot fathom
Him, and yet he holds me, frozen onlooker looking in, the family scene
Warm hearth, happy home, and yet there is no space for me,
He will not let me in, he stirs the pot, and the treacle thickens,
And I just want one more taste, please, let me have some more.

But his love is black treacle, it may stick around but it is still fickle
He’ll move on, spread it about, and leave me gormless, sobbing
Like an addict, mourning a treat that made me sick, pallid and ill,
Clutching at my stomach, I’ve over eaten, I thought lust was my sin
But apparently it is gluttony, this cacophony of indulgence, greed
And pain, me, standing in the rain, my hair streaming to the wind
Screaming with my tears, I fear he will never come back to me,
I’ll go cold turkey, I’ll get the shakes and then it will stop, end, and I
Won’t, no won’t want treacle, no, no more treacle, ever again.

Rose Staveley-Wadham