The sky peeled back

Like tangerine skin

To dress our room in a different light

Fill corners that once lacked

And foster our laughter

That had grown so thin

Like butter spread over too much toast

But now crowned by a golden yolk

Gracing our tongues

We talked in shades of red and boasted

Of this small moment

In which we spoke

Until the burning petals closed again

And with them drew our love away

Down to a silent, sunless place

Numb but not painless

And we coped by counting

Until the next rising day.