Worlds drawn upon an astral image
A real place
It's real here, at least
A smiling face; his hands like cream
Butter churned a friendly hue
Pale, charming, rising
Like yeast, symbiotic and together
To form something sustaining
Levitating, with snakes under my feet
Let out of their baskets, a flute plays
Something so sweet
So sweet to me
And I can't help but
Think of this place