Disconnected Thoughts

If we choose to deliver and stand naked in His eye, together, holding hands, jeering at time; as butterflies flutter over our heads and we look up at them and smile and grin and sing; will we be transported back to heaven on a swan's wings, will we fly and tease each other? And laugh? Is laughter hysterical? Or is it as beautiful a thing as it appears to me? Or is it both? And a pink boiled bun in the sky. What would that mean? Can I make a dream what it is or do I make it what I want it to be and then try and understand it and a faint glimmer is all I get? Is it better this way? Why is my mind all questions? Are questions my only contribution to the consciousness? Black and shiny. Glamour. Riches. A celebration of what we are. Only we deserve to celebrate, we, who are free. We, who are free from guilt. We, who truly know what enjoyment is. So much pride I take to be displayed on his arm. His most beautiful possession. And we laugh and we let them see we laugh. And we laugh at their deadness, their diluted malice, their wonder. We are children in our laughter, cruel as only children can be. And again we fly. All black and shiny and laughing like a couple of seven year-olds. Will we see ghosts? Will that make us unhappy? Or surer that this was meant all along. I think we'll find that it was only we who were meant to see. And understand.