Walk With Me

Let's get naked,
and walk to the moon,
past the International Space Station,
maybe peek in the windows
see if they're conducting
gravity-free sex experiments.

Our geriatric sags
would float like dog ears swimming;
our feet would leave prints
with toes and heels,
not sterile NASA treads.

I'd lay you down
in the Sea of Nectar,
ride a wild moon wind
from Africa to Africa.

We'd drink sun
from the cupped palms of our hands,
moon nosey satellites,
posturing for a front page spread.

Boogie board back home
on a couple of rogue meteorites,
wave at Masters and Johnson,
going around the world
for the billionth time.

(all rights reserved Pat Paulk 2006)