light

it's the seperation that makes it,
that brings it to its colour scheme, the pallor
required for the sweetness

each part has its place and its
measure. lily white they blend together in
their bowl, an offering to some
virginal deity

it's bittersweet to begin with,
before being set in small pieces,
swaddled, baby-like, on its metal resting
place and given to the heat that
will change and purify it, like a
soul, the soul of an egg or a
world or of an idea

desirous. if only i could
take the agreeable and bitter parts of
myself and by some sweet alchemy
combine them so that i too can
be made of light and taste of sugared air