Intoxicating it draws me in
a realm beyond wrapped in wool
yet vibrant and alive
with breath more vital than any which wakes.
Twisting, a labyrinth of sensations
of colour and of feelings and of life.
Fleeting in hours twixt waking and reality.
Slinking into cracks, evading recollection.
It's sole trace frustrating euphoria.
The desire to return never fully quenched.