The year was 1969 again, and I was light-years overdue for a shag.
Flying to the nearest bar for a top shelf Margarita IV drip,*
I bumped into the hottest astronaut who wore a disco ball helmet,
and Technicolor Dream Jacket and absolutely nothing else underneath
thanks to the X-ray Specs I always pack on my time trips.
Most women find the male naked form more utilitarian than beautiful,
but when his carbon based flesh and bone sculpture bumped into me,
I saw a future of twisted, sweat-soaked sheets turned to ropes
tethering our spent torsos as we floated in a lofty hotel room
after closing time, after a long kiss goodnight.
Interrupted by a grumpy bartender, we moved the action
to the leathery back seat of my infinite time machine.
We shared mind-expanding stories of our time traverses
and we kissed againâ€”after he removed his sequined helmetâ€”
and his eyes reminded me of the oceans of Xenon.
I wanted to fly there then, but the IV had taken effect quickly,
so we floated outside after securing and hiding our time rides.
The hot astronaut didn’t waste time when we checked-in.
In a seedy roadside motel room, he showed me the right stuffâ€”
then slept like a baby as I crept out the door to call a taxi to 2009.
*Margarita IVs were invented in the year 2056. A young woman, coincidentally named Marguerite Le Fleur, teleported to the year 1967 and introduced the future craze to an insane Tequila distributor. Incidentally, crappy psychedelic garage bands performing in dive bars all began to sound better than The Beatles.