The shrooms take me to the place 

where you look around, crowded space,

and pick me.

Suspended in the air, 

my cumulonimbus heart, cloud nine, 

your hand outstretched, the highest sign.

I take it, press it to my lips, 

kiss, kiss, 

mine, mine.

We walk,

no guidance. 

I am sure you are smiling.

(This piece came to me in two waves. First, under a shroom spell, then again on a boat, where a cloud above seemed to remember what I almost forgot.)