You want to build an elevator for outer space, with which a man,
hand over hand, could pull his ungrateful body from the earth’s
hold and onto the moon. You want to design a lunar home, give it
a hydroponic garden and a viewing deck. You want, you said,
to make me blush. I’ll take zero gravity, I’ll take the reddened
cheek, I’ll take the seat beside the oxygen scrubbers but really
all I want is to plant kisses on you and watch them bloom.