A Mid Summer Noon's Dream

And Summers have a way of slipping into dreams. The droolface, the doodlebreath,
the little wiggly sunshapes
crawling across your floor,like lousy projector-shots
of happy-high Mockturtles and Gryphins. Heeh.
I don't know why the noons are always at each other's heels,
Three Doors Down, always.
And if you try fix your gaze on them for longer than it takes for your eyes to well up,
they might even take you along
when they slip away,
away, into,
their dreamscape. Some days, you'd really like that.
You can rollup your shorts and hopscotch around the wobbly frames of
Time and Space, humming someone else's favourite song, thinking
it to be yours, all the while. You can sprint across whole worlds
of sunshine,
run through fieldsoffaces and
fieldsofforevers, run
run
run
till you are on the other side of
the brilliance, aching, undone, breathless
beautiful.
You'd meet people on the way, and you know how people
take you up on their toes
so much more easily, when they are not just
people. There would be laughter, happy
echoes. Not the kind of happy that hurts.
Just happy.
And if,
people,
slip their hand into yours,
there would be 

walks, like a
three minute song
on loop-
You'd try to fix in memory all
the streets and shadows that
you pass, may be end up
naming a few of them together. And if
you cant quite trace back the map
a minute after 

you wake up, that's
all right. That's all right, because
there'd be laughter.
As for the small part towards sundown
when you'd stretch every shadowcell in your
shadowlimbs to be able to
touch
this renegade one, and
all you'd touch is wakefulness,
that's all right
too.
All right because there was

laughter. 

So much of it:)