Atomic Tangerine

Looking quietly in Valencia for a perfect calming sphere
peace is shattered with a smack in the head
from a misshapen myopic mandarin
shouting 'look at me! I'm here!'

Waking slowly and wobbling on unsteady legs
to the pungent odours of tikka masala
in a working mans bar deep underground
where a clear amber liquid is served from old-fashioned kegs.

Pulsing alarm beacons glint off ragged topaz crystals
crawling between safety suited legs
to a long rusted ladder soaring up
I ascend slowly cradling a pair of gold handled pistols.

Thousands of halloween pumpkins flicker
below a gorgeous low hanging harvest moon
the priestess wears an ant trapped in baltic amber
in a necklace forged eons ago, but under the same tableau.

Lit by a tawny peach and crystal blue morning sky
a handsome ginger tabby licks marmelade from his paws
on a bird bath of bronzed mexican mosaics
the sun climbs slowly and glints like a dragons eye.

Under fragrant sweet scented orange flowers
I follow each bite of sinfully smooth delicate chocolate
with a sip of opalescent cointreau over ice
and completely forget the rush hour.