The Evening High

A sweet confection triggers the design,

And sits in quiet patience for an hour,

Until a subtle shift along the spine

Announces the arrival of its power.

And then it rolls—a heavy, golden wave

That anchors every limb into the floor,

A deep and gravity-bound spell that gave

A weight to things that didn't weigh before.

The clock slows down its frantic, ticking pace,

The simplest thoughts dissolve and drift away,

As comfort fills the quiet, cozy space

And washes out the static of the day.

The mind floats free, the body sinks deep down,

In gentle, silent waves of peace to drown.