We touched last night
on opinions of honey;
most of all,
its eminent fade upon tongue.

But before:

The tangible gold prowling
lining of throat; poised
to invade the heavens
of internal folds.

Found those sleeves tucked
in crisp black and whites

and marveled at emotions
that only acknowledge full swing
of pendulum...Ignore the slow
and low shimmer of gleam

in between the seasons,

we all turn our faces skyward
and cast wishes to colours not of
our world. Ask that they bring
a multitude of bird song;
melodious offering

our souls can sip upon.