A Pome a Day for a Year

The cloud of cartoons is light
and joyful, with Angels playing harps
sinking into cushioned decadence.

The cloud of life is heavy,
tons of water held aloft through
scientific wonder; the revolving cycle.

I feel like dancing, from cloud to cloud,
multicoloured lights strobing to a backdrop
full of rainbow and song.

Here, this limbo, this mental space,
this other place where the melted cares
form a teal sea that ebbs without fury.

I am alone, and I am giant,
I cram a taut and hulking body
across the stages connecting vapour.

I can touch that sun,
my fingertips reach upward, that burning
orange orb resting against human protrusion.

My hand delves disappearing into molten love,
warm, satisfying, comforting, caring,
and my huge frame follows, launched from cloud.

The sun takes me,
and I want it, I need
to be consumed by this heat.