Perfect Dusk

[RiverNotch]

I have a neat little backlog of poetry here, most of them made since my last two threads here (this is without considering my less serious poem of late, which I don't plan to touch until I'm done with the subject it deals with; education's being a bit of an asshole right now). I've revisited one of those already; I'll revisit the other one sometime soon, with its older, less stringent version as the new edit (I'm a bit stuck with the current one). But for now, I'll go on ahead and present most of my backlog, starting with the ones I'll take the most seriously in revising. 

Current draft (what notes I have on this are in a post below this):

We have our dinner outside the city,
among the trees. As I serve our dessert, you
burst into song: "Oh, the heavens are a glass
of parfait! The sun is the syrup-drenched peach
at the bottom; over it, a meringue of dew
carefully folded into the creamy air
floats; and then, a light sprinkling of green mint
and cocoa, the earth in all its richness!

"But we're always so keen to dip our dirty spoons
into the mess, to have too much of it,
and to poison it for the rest." In the distance,
the smokestack city harries its last hurrah
for the day; its digits of stone and steel
spew heavy smoke into the sunset sky.

First draft:

Sunlight falls all over the world
like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight.
It mingles with the soft meringue
of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle.

I cough into the syrup-drenched
horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel
mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection.

The things I'm most uncomfortable with in this are the volta, which I sort of feel doesn't really work, and the title, which currently is just a placeholder.