a poem where the sun sets sideways and time forgets its script

The sky was blue, then not at all,
A violet hush, a twilight stall.
You poured the drink and watched it bloom,
A paradox inside a room.

Bianco shined with gentle grace,
A silken thread through time and place.
The violette, a whisper rare,
Like dusk caught braiding midnight’s hair.

Then lemon came, a lucid strike,
To bend the hour just how you like.
A tonic top, a fleeting fizz,
To ask, “What time exactly is?”

You drank. The moment looped, then slowed.
The stars forgot which way they glowed.
And in that glass, one truth remains:
No sunset ever sets the same.

📜 Eventide Paradox – The Recipe

Instructions:
Shake vermouth, violette, and lemon with ice.
Strain into a tall glass or coupe over fresh cubes.
Top with tonic. Sip slowly—before it becomes tomorrow.

Best enjoyed at that hazy, impossible hour between memory and mistake.