Bon Apétit
In the style of Michael Ondaatje

The charming impressionistic music 
sounds like the frame of an exquisite painting
like an unpolished but expensive pearl
like a new toy in mint condition
like vapour rising from a hotspring
heavy fog in the cool morining
white clouds against the broad sky
setting sun above the horizon.
Like mango flavoured ice cream down 
your throat in a hot sunny day,
like a warm bath after spending hours 
outside in pouring rain,
like someone welcoming you to a feast
and then wishing you "Bon Apétit".
like the train tracks that meet at one point in the distance
like the snow on the remote mountain peak
like an empty football stadium before the final.
Like 2 hot air ballons levitating over your head
like a conductor indicating a fermata
like a the reflection of moon on a tranquil pond
like walking on bridge over a river with incandescent fish
opening the Scientific American that just arrived,
touching a trophy that never can be won,
holding on to the phone, waiting for an expected call,
like watching a city at night through a blurred window.
Like the smell of the bread from the bakery
of a sports equipment room
of a new car that has just been bought.
Like standing up after sitting through 
a two-hour lecture
Like the feeling I have when the bass drum does 
its soft, but thunderous roll.