Croissant de Moon

A freestyle medley to sip from, in between billowy moon crescents.

Photo by Sanni Sahil on Unsplash

~Croissant de moon flex upon me

it is my playful duty

to stretch wide in the breeze~

~One Galette des Rois

is enough to convert me

to frangipane ouate~

  

~Rosaries on speed

carousels to nowhere else

plough into concrete~

~Polish that Joy before collapse

do not turn off the taps

swelled up with acid rain~

~Last scintilla of breath

thousand kites swallowed up in skies

not one stone left to crest~

White linens ripped in three halves,

one for death, two more for kites

frozen rubble tilting nights~

~Audacious sea lions spilt

the cadence of malaise,

urban foes to pestilence~

~There is no more sea

its goo thick like raspberries

hushing the skittish~

~Resistance is indigo

craft a crunch in solid scorch

in a trance of existence~

~Chasing for punctures

in liminal seas

all heartbeats succoured~

~Croissant de moon slicing open

linen Sisyphean of the seas

secateurs of calligraphy~

Galette des Rois: Traditional French puff pastry frangipane tart yielding a hidden charm.

Ouate: Soft and fluffy cotton wool wadding.