They call me Dreamer.
I wouldn’t live any other way.
It’s a feeling,
A sense,
A sensibility.
Pride or prejudice.
A visceral experience.
I can smell it in the early morning dew when the grass is still damp
with teardrops dancing on the treetops.
I can see it in the peach-coloured sunrise and cotton candy clouds.
I sigh.
It sweeps
Rhythmic waves of freedom
Freestyling.
My home;
My heart;
My healing.
A whisper tickling my earlobe.
A firm gentle grip
On my hip.
A butterfly kiss.
My home;
My heart;
My healing.
It’s a feeling,
A sense,
& sensibility.