It seems almost perfect, this candy kingdom
of spun sugar and spearmint, jellied fruit
and gumball guardians. Molten chocolate rivers
course below black licorice drawbridges. And you,
my bubblegum princess, sweet and pink, I could
almost live inside your rose-colored walls β except
I still starve for red, must drain it from everywhere
it lives. I ache with hunger. Honey, your pale pink
left me full of nothing but sweet stomach pains.
Now that we’re apart, I’m alone, of course.
Sometimes, I only partially drain the red from my
newest subject, until it turns a soft, exhausted pink.
Marceline White is a Baltimore-based poet and writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in trampset, Culinary Origami, The Heartland Review, Prime Number, The Orchard Review, The Indianapolis Review, Atticus Review, Little Patuxent Review, Gingerbread House, The Free State Review, The Loch Raven Review, among others. Poems have been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize as well as Best of the Net. She was a recipient of an Aspen Words Fellowship in 2023 and a forthcoming residency with Event Horizon in 2024. When not writing, Marceline can be found serving her two cats, cooking, and telling her son to text her when he arrives at the party. Read more at marcelinewhitewrites.com.