In a a plastic container

dizziness sealed in a membrane,

invites curious fingertips

to a mayhem of stickiness.

The white snot of a substance

spreads itself thoroughly

across walls, across pages,

across infinite distances

that stand bridgeless and naked.

Despite your highs and my lows,

you patch things indiscriminately

and for this, I do love you,

dear clotted glue.

Disregarding resistance ,

you make everything stick

at the tip of my fingertips

with such eager convenience,

with such organized disorder.

A reassuring banality

to have you tingling my nostrils

with smokey long fingers

peddling for attention.

What is it you’re selling me,

my white sticky friend?