The Dessert

The sky dissolved to curd and beaten gold,

A buttery horizon, folded deep,

Where silver spoons of cloud began to steep

In citrus light that refused to grow old.

A piecrust moon, sun-baked and floating high,

Served up a slice of morning to the earth.

The shadows cracked, and yielded unto mirth,

Pouring sweet amber juice across the sky.

No bitter rind remained to dull the tongue,

Just liquid diamonds caught in custard glass;

We watched the heavy hours gently pass,

As songs of yellow warmth were softly sung.

A surreal feast upon the windowsill,

Where time stood still, and everything was sweet,

And bitter days were simply obsolete,

Left in the valley, far beneath the hill.