I have dreams where we work.

The funny thing is,

We are never human.

In one we are two blades of grass

Standing side by side

In a humble garden.

Our roots intertwine,

And I feel the sun on my florets.

I wake up cursing myself

For being made of flesh and blood

Rather than phosphorus and chlorophyll.

In another we are a pair of sneakers

With our laces tied together.

A young boy throws us over a power line.

The wind blows,

Manipulating our shoestrings

In just the right way.

We moan out with pleasure.

I wake up and touch myself.

I recall the feeling of the roof of your mouth to

Bring myself over the edge.

And I swear I can touch those other worlds.