The speaker asks whether you've ever felt the kind of love that swallows the whole world, then answers by describing it: intense, a little naive, and wrapped up in one other person. They call it "kiddy love" and "a child's fantasy," and they even invite the reader to laugh. But the mockery is defensive more than sincere. The speaker knows the relationship is probably doomed, citing time, distance, and probability, and admits they have no power over any of them.
What gives the poem its force is the turn near the end. Instead of giving in to that knowledge, the speaker decides it doesn't matter. Your touch is "the truth that holds me together," and for the first time they feel less alone. The shift from "a child's dream" to "our child's dream" is quietly tender, turning something embarrassing into something shared. The mood is wistful but calm, even content, a deliberate peace with an uncertain future. The loose, unpunctuated lines feel like a confession spoken out loud.