A staple of the bakery. This type of party has the word cocktail in front of it.

Day fades beneath the darkening sky, Night wakes as bright colors die. I linger where the two worlds meet, Brief, fading, quiet, incomplete. Think of shiny bloodsuckers deep in love, When gold and shadow fit in like a glove.

I start with a wire but now travel through space. I deliver swift words to any far place. My first half tells weight, or a message of old. My second half sends a sharp, written fold.

Light, polish, crafts, and balm, Solid and subtle scent in your palm.

I cut the gold from Sif’s fair hair, then paid it back with craft and care. I shaped a storm in hammer’s form, through trick and wager, slyly borne. And from a sprig both soft and slight, I stole away the god of light.