I dreamt I was a cowboy last night. You were there. It was like a Hollywood cliché with a sterilized bent; in Technicolor. I wore a gun at my hip and my hat cocked askew. You wore a ribbon in your hair and a lurid red petticoat affair, with just a hint of garter and hem.

I fought bandits and scoundrels, and scandalized as much as either might. At night I took you roses. You refused to swoon without a searing parody of my advances. I persisted and insisted and persevered. You were adored.

By day the bandits came. Quietly at first; not one of us heard them arrive. They made out for the bank, but not one of them left it alive. I went in with my gun at my hip and my hat cocked askew.

They barked at me, demands, indignations and torments, or so they thought. But they held no glamour on me. This day I was blind to their leers, my mind’s eye struck with other visions. This day I was deaf to their jeers, my ear serenaded by midnight whispers. This day I fought with my heart.

Visions of red, scarlet, garter and hem, danced in front of me and lead my hands. One by one the bandits fell, while bullets rattled around me. Faint glimmers of steel, distant and harmless. I was invincible while you danced in my head. You were incredible.