i enter,
entranced,by the aboreal entrance of the lush and
verdant place,
in which you
choose to exsist
the mist, smelling of
earl grey tea and
ginger cakes.
beckons,
me forward,
thru the curlique trees,
with lemon and limedrop
leaves
and drifting clouds of,
bright sunshine flowers.
in my wake my footprints
become little ponds with
goldfish toes.
ahead, i see you,
all shades of green
swinging,
lacksadaisically
to and fro...
in a hammock,
on a hummock,
between two aged, sandlewood trees
and in your hand,
you hold an island
of purple sand,
and polka dotted,
umbrella trees.
at your feet,
a crooked street
of pastel, pixie condo's
all curves and swerves,
with mushroom roofs
and teardrop windows.
your voice,
like that, of a finely,
strung cello
sings songs of welcome
to my jubilant heart
and i stop and think
you are a curious fellow.
i sit myself down,
with care
for the pixies fair
and soon fall asleep
to the lullaby of the aforementioned cello....
...alas when i awake
your no longer there
and i wonder if
you were,
just the aftereffects
of too much cake....
.....but wait
did i just hear
a pixie,
giggle,
a smiggle
up there,
behind my left ear.
...i so hope
that i did....
don't you?
surrealist, freeflow
with a nod to the beatles.
