The Dessert

The kitchen floor dissolves in pale chartreuse,

Where gravity forgets the heavy spoon.

A cloud of sugar, toasted loose and bruised,

Floats upward, humming to a phantom moon.

Sliced almonds drift like slivers of the mind,

Suspended in a gelatinous dream—

The sharp, green citrus of a left-behind

Remembrance, tangled in a web of cream.

We taste the tartness of a vanished year,

Softened by cushions of marshmallow white,

Where boundaries blur, and silhouettes appear

To dissolve slowly in the electric light.

A slice of paradox upon a plate:

The acid bite, the pillowed, quiet hush.

We consume the moments while the shadows wait,

Painting the surreal with a lime-stained brush.