The Dessert

The twilight hums in shades of melted pear,

As porcelain plates float softly through the air.

A kitchen drifts upon a painted sea,

Where time forgets the way it used to be.

Upon the table, spun from morning gleam,

Resides the miracle of sugar-cream.

A golden lake beneath a porcelain moon,

A pastry island waiting for a spoon.

The crust is woven out of barley cloud,

Where whispers of the meadow echo proud.

And in the center, pale and velvet-deep,

A quiet secret stirs itself from sleep.

No heavy sorrow lingers in this space,

Only the sweetness of a mother’s grace.

With every breath, the shadows start to lift,

And heaviness dissolves into a gift.

A single slice—a wedge of rising dawn—

Illuminates the dark where grief has gone.

We taste the light, and let the future bloom,

While golden stardust settles round the room.