November

Issue 38

The control-room drones work their magic: Oh-three. Oh-six. One four seven five. Standing alone Together on our circular marks-- The first time for each Both--we shiver, Unaware of how the magic works, Knowing only that on this Your My Our honeymoon Distant dreams await. At last the final sequence starts: Two. Eighteen-one. Fivesixfour. Streams of data, Yet bone, blood, mind-- We fly. My hand in yours, Your heart in mine, Our minds ... together. At the speed of light, Still, enchanted we linger, Enjoying the view.