The Dessert

Upon a plate of spun, forgotten glass,

Where liquid amber dreams of turning skies,

The shadows of the afternoon will pass

And catch a glimpse of deep, celestial eyes.

It is a sea of muscovado tides,

Where phantom sails of pastry drift and gleam,

A quiet universe where sweetness hides

To bake the borders of a waking dream.

No flour-dusted floor, no common room,

Can hold the weight of such a golden art;

It gathers light from far beyond the gloom,

And rolls the cosmos through a Gypsy’s tart.

With every bite, the gravity lets go,

The heavy anchor of the day takes flight,

And lifts us to a sugar-spun plateau,

Where tomorrow wears the promise of the light.