after dreaming of tanks that shoot magnolia
blossoms with Klingons at the helm,
I'd say, “Identify yourselves.”
They'd reply by showering my bicycle
with fragrant petals
near the embassy in Ouagadougou.
We'd then transport to England
for a skinny dip in River Nene.
Just as I'd order rounds for them
and all within the Vane Arms pub,
my husband's smoldering hands
would shiver me awake.
Neither of us would care about time, kids,
weather, lunch, or work.
I'd just stroke the silky skin on his
scalp while he says, “Make it so.”
And then we would.
Author's Bio: When J. S. Graustein isn't writing, she plays Managing Editor at Folded Word Press. Her path to the writing life is best expressed in mathematical terms:
w = [e - (h + m)] / OED
Having trouble solving for w? You'll find clues on her Twitter stream. Better yet, email her and she'll give you the answer.