When You Drive on Me

 When you drive on me
 You pretend I'm a mountain,
 My legs a gently rising slope
 Leading your toy cars to snowland,
 Where they can view the whole town.

 When you drive on me
 The world stops turning,
 My mind stops spinning,
 I lose all my senses to touch
 What comfort undressed
 In sheets of blessed cotton
 That shaped the air senseless,
 Surrender complete, enthralled
 By the grace of a child.

 When you drive on me
 The soft rubber wheels melt my skin
 Into creamy pillows of snow
 Guided by your tiny hands
 Over bone-frilled ranges of sleep.
 Tread softly, little one,
 Slowly to the summit,
 To park on my chest
 That heaves the tread,
 Raising the summit to slumber,
 Your little fingers pressing
 Gently on plastic wheels,
 The wheels rolling smoothly,
 Rolling my head through snowflower,
 Becoming a dreamer on your summit,
 Shuffled by rolling mountain of breast,
 Collapsing from shorted lungs below,
 Escaping flesh through summit above,
 Drifting from escape, collapsed
 By each snowflake drifting dreamwards,
 Disintegrating into air, into me.