Higher and Higher

Floating just above the treetops
we silently gaze at the canopy and run our fingers through
the soft corduroy leaves.
Plumes of silk solemnly drift by
ignoring our half-hearted attempts to touch it.

The fire is lit,
and we float higher, and we climb
into the clouds, surrounded by their cotton,
stringy fibers and tranquility.
Fragrances of vanilla slowly creep up on us
and gingersnaps climb into our pockets.

The fire is lit,
and we float higher, and we climb
higher and higher and higher
and higher and higher and
we never stopped.