Inn

If there's a way behind the woods,
Beyond the veils and curtains,
Far away into a smooth nothingness
How would, I wonder, that be?

Will it be without oxygen to breathe in?
A texture creamy, a depth dreamy,
A song, filled with drops of dopamine
And a central source, to take it all in.

If there ever existed such a place,
I still wonder where that would be!
Deep inside a poet's realism
Surreal resides in a highway inn.