Thursday June 24th

Day 66

When you crack the glass surface
brittle as glaze of ice on a pool,
the colour of gold,
blistered with bronze and spotted with black,

it should sound like a

splintering.

Then your teaspoon will enter a cool tremble

of velvet,

gliding smooth and thick,

primrose petal yellow,

scented with vanilla -

faint seeds of bourbon,

like dust in the cream.

On your tongue you will taste

both -

sweet silk and melting bitter shards -

and you’ll wish it was
a lake,

you had in your kitchen

deep
and whenever.

I ate this creme brulee today in Florac, under a yellow sun umbrella by a clean running river. In the sweet company on new friends and my beloved.