Chronophage

I hunger for those gilded hours
That melt like honey over ether.  
I am an insect in the refuse
Of memories that won’t taste sweeter.  

I am a fly whose wings reflect  
The oil of a corrupted present -
Cast in the spit and river scum,
My skeleton is iridescent.  

I am devouring my future
And crawling gold in shameful waste
That taints me temporally starving.  
I am addicted to its taste.