The Dessert

The morning broke in shades of bruised magenta,

Where ruby berries floated on the lawn,

And stalks of jade climbed up the steep horizon,

To catch the melting butter of the dawn.

We baked the hours within a tilted oven

Suspended in the amber, glowing sky,

And stirred the clouds to thicken up the center

Of our colossal, sun-spun rhubarb pie.

The lattice crust was woven out of starlight,

That baked to gold beneath a dreaming moon,

A pastry world where gravity forgot us,

And sweetness hummed a soft, chromatic tune.

With every slice, the heavy shadows lifted,

And spilled warm nectar on the porcelain floor—

A hopeful map of where the dark had drifted,

And promises of light forevermore.