The Dessert

We waded through a thicket stitched of time,

Where clocks hung heavy, dripping purple juice,

And summer wore a coat of velvet grime,

And gravity was suddenly no use.

The brambles whispered secrets in reverse,

Of July afternoons that never died,

We plucked the shadowed berries from the curse,

And dropped them in a sky turned upside down inside.

Inside the iron skillet, time baked slow,

The crust dissolved like chalk upon a slate,

While memories of snow began to blow

Across a landscape warping on the plate.

A bubble burst—a window to the past—

Where grandmothers spun whispers out of steam,

And though we knew the sweetness wouldn't last,

We swallowed down the borders of the dream.