Perfect Dusk

[tectak]

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. 

Sunlight falls all over the world No it doesn't
like the honey-water dripping
from the skin of a ripened peach
preserved in a jar of delight. What is a jar of delight and how do you get honey-water "dripping" in to it from an immersed preserved peach. Metaphors should clarify, not obscure
It mingles with the soft meringue What is "it"? You do not say...peach or honey-water( whatever that is) or sunlight. "it" is an indefinite article which decouples from any reference  very easily. Clarify.
of syrupy dew carefully
folded into the heavy cream
of the chilly evening souffle. Should I know this souffle? You say "the", which is a definite article but I have not been introduced...so really, it is just an evening souffle to me.


I cough into the syrup-drenched I can imagine but choose not to. Inappropriate contextually.
horizon broken by the city
silhouette, a mass of greedy stone
hands with fingers and tumors of steel Some good imagery here but you go all Gothic too quickly. I feel your disgust and appreciate the comparison you are trying to make...but it doesn't gel so it ain't aspic, to keep in vogue
mingling their dirty, smoke-spewing tips
with the dusk's perfect confection. Hmm. Bit of a rush to the finish line...especially as I am a little queasy, myself.

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.

Hi,
Where to begin. This is the serious forum where it is unusual to find work relying for form on a simplistic syllable count without any regard for emphases. I think you need to develop at least some sophistication to avoid this piece sounding like a mathematician writing prose. If you write ANY text string and then count the syllables, divide by the  number of lines you would like then split each line into the given quotient syllables you get...well...this. Any odd syllables left over you can just chop out a modifier here and you have it; but do you want it? I do not.

The whole thing reads a children's recipe book metaphorically and amateurishly linked to a jokingly metaphysical emetic.

Frankly, even as a gooey diabetic dream it shows no knowledge a priori of the creation or understanding of what makes a good pud. Syrupy  meringues may work for me once but syrupy horizons just say lack of vocabulary.

You need to pare this back to a lean core metaphor and hang on some well thought through descriptive treats. The idea which you are trying to express is completely buried in hyperbole of the worst kind...that is, deliberate...to the extent that even you, the writer, cannot decide what to call it although I bet Burl Ives could sing it.
Oh the buzzing of the bees in the cigarette trees, the soda water fountain...
Best,
tectak