Love Apportioned

If I were a dreamer
I might lose my place
On the inside
Of some foreign landscape
Where inner sanctums are open vistas
Where people converse without air in between
With limbs intertwined
And heads resting on shoulders
Where irises are explored for spectacular striations
And mountains and valleys and rain forests
Of flesh
Are navigated
By sailing fingertips and soaring eyes
And storms rage
And the people laugh
In celebration of the winds and the rains
That spread the seeds and germinate new life
And everyone gets carried away with the excitement of it all.
But thankfully,
I’m not a dreamer.
And I know my place.