The Dessert

Upon a table spun of morning mist,

Where gravity forgets its heavy pull,

We found the pastry, sun-and-butter kissed,

A golden circle, fathomless and full.

The crust was woven from a vanished star,

Flaked light that crumbled softly at the touch,

And brought us echoes from a realm afar

Where time gives infinitely, and asks for much.

Across the top, the amber sugar slept,

A desert of pure hope in crystal grain,

Where phantom tides of caramel had swept

To wash away the memory of rain.

And as we sliced the glowing, dreamy dome,

The air grew thick with vanilla and grace,

A compass pointing every wanderer home

To the sweet center of a nameless place.

No hunger lingered where this magic lay;

We tasted dawn, and watched the shadows part,

As golden grains dissolved the dark away,

And baked a brighter morning in the heart.