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Dreamtown
there exists
a soul-world
somewhere in a dream
but it's real
because
i saw it gleam.
skies were
cut from cloth
and clouds
were cappuccino froth.
surreal.
my eyes
were colored mirrors
that sparkled
instead of teared.
grass
was made of sound
and squeezed out words
depending
how it was caressed.
and houses were
composed of thoughts,
where each doorway
was an idea
of its architect.
mine was wide,
about twelve stories high
where yours was
low and long
and hers was
underground
and his was
fat and round.
and how profoundly
our collective genius
cackled in the moonlight.
it was
the most staggering,
sense-defying sight.
the place i go at night
to see you
if you dream it right.
