Candyfloss

A pink memory of sugar foam
edged with spherical jewels
to border each bite.

The scent of child excitement
and bonfire television
to come dancing with at night.

In this hive of cloud
I could forget the school morning
and the terror of hair pulls.

My dares then were to ride the giant cups,
now, to risk my teeth on a toffee apple.

It is the bitter taste of black chocolate
that welcomes my mouth to morning
after the ruby wine,
the tonic to forget work.

I grasp at fragments of thinning mist,
sculpting my vapour towards a shape of contentment,
towards the scent of 'artificial cream',
a cloud of lost parents.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.