The One Where I Can Pinch Your Backside And There's Nothing You Can Do About It At The Moment.

Dear Lover,

I dreamed about England last night.
And a closet full of 1930's style dresses.
My hair was twice as long.
There were rolling hills and bluebells.
And pints in mugs, set on long wooden tables outside of pubs.
I dreamed you wore a stone green pullover made from sheep's wool.
And I said, "Let's hurry love, back to the flat."
"I've got these ideas just exploding in my head, and I don't want to forget."
So you swallowed your remaining ale, and the last of mine.
And you climbed onto a bicycle for two.
Steadied it so I could climb on too.
Took the long way home down a tree lined avenue.
Saying over your shoulder, "Tell me about these explosions, and I'll remember them for you."

Love,
Me.