a dream of flying

if I could control my dreams
I’d dream of flying
way up in the clouds
like Arthur Dent
and Fenchurch
me with a billowing dress
you removing it in mid air
wet with wispy cloud mist
hands slipping and sliding
on your skin, lips locked
and drifting, spiralling
floating in the moonlight
in a long embrace
hanging in the sky
in much the same way that bricks don’t

odd thoughts about tides

the ground we stand on seems quite solid
but i’ve read that tides affect land
as well as ocean
and equatorially
you’d be moving up and down
like waves on the sea
while standing on dry land
hearing echoes of improbability drives
and people turning into penguins
and limbs floating gently away