Glue. Tape. Batter. Dough. Honey.
Paint sticks to a wall. Lipstick to a cheek. Chalk to a sidewalk.
Mud. Wax. Clay. Sand. Moss.
Moss sticks to everything. I see it on rocks, in trees. Sticks on the ground.
Water is sticky.
Oxygen, the third wheel, always looking for a mate.
Relationships are sticky.
Phlegm. Blood. Vomit. Shit.
Death is sticky. It smells and aromas are sticky.
Memory is sticky.
Gravity is sticky. Keeps the death in the ground, but not the memories.
Friction is sticky.
Don’t remember physics, but yes, I think friction is sticky.
Information is not so sticky.
School is sticky, but not because of any information disseminated there.
Trauma is sticky.
Depression is sticky.
Choices are sticky.
Satisfaction is not so sticky. Should be more.
Thoughts are sticky. Webs are sticky.
Thoughts are webs in which I stick. I get stuck.
Orgasms should be more sticky. Not like that.
Figurately, the female orgasm should stick longer.
Sperm is sticky. Sex is so sticky. Gets more sticky after 40 weeks.
Pride. Ego. Desire. — too sticky.
Peace. Calm. Joy. — not sticky enough.
Anger. Fear. Loneliness. — too sticky.
Shame — the way shame sticks is worst of all.
Smiles are sticky. Tears are too.
Change is sticky.
Change is always what finally sticks, when nothing else does.