At the Table With You

I'm
at the table with you,
sipping coffee and passing time.
I gobble up packets of sweets while

trying
to keep my tongue from tasting
the sugar I had just popped
into my mouth,

not
being keen to facts like "sugar
has a bitter aftertaste" and "the tongue
is [usually] beyond our control," only

to
realize that time does not stop
for anything that melts fast.
I spit the particles out so as not to

fall
into a sugar rush, but the flavor
coats my tongue already, and the sensation
crawls around it irresistibly. Time never stops

for
anything at all, neither bitter nor sweet.
I excuse myself from the table, hoping that maybe
I could still wash the flavor away, but

you
stop me, hand me more sweets, and say it's for
my coffee. You have no idea: I really have to wash
this away. I have to resist those sweets.