I was raised from my bed today

I was raised from my bed today
solely by the desire to describe your surface
in the new weather - now Madame Sol
finally grooms herself for stepping out
in public -

and, my swan, you are malt whisky
I can't say what kind - something Scottish
from the sweet, smoked up cupboard
in the corner of the old house's dining room

When flung open, a spider's head
of glass eyes hypnotizes you,
and that pool of amber - on the middle shelf,
fired, caramelised, guilded and over-ripe
is your colour today, while you lie
out in the garden - just outside the reach
of the maple tree shadow
singing Donovan
drinking gin and pepsi