me and you, a green plunger
and a turnip, could sit in an
onion cage atop the jungle,
and
maybe i’d call you pumpkin
and meet you upside-down
at the end of a 2-story slide,
’cause
i’m on this dragon’s saddle
waiting for it to spit you out,
but
though this city is called a
possible metropolis where
only the adults may swim,
you
are swimming in a desert
far away, and i am floating
on a fairytale, never to hold
your hand.