I remember you said
The sky that day looked like the top
Of a cake you had seen. Crisp, clean blue coating
With clouds of cotton icing dotted around the outside.
After we tumbled out of The Cat and Custard Pot,
You slurred that one day, you’d like a piece of that
Or to drag your fingers through it
And keep the sugar stars in your front pocket.
You weren’t there to taste it,
When our small airplane sliced the African sky,
Cutting our cake landscape in two,
But I would have shared it with you.