torn with sharp delicate creases,
that sits patiently in an old cigar case,
just below a type writer on a dusty shelf.
On it is the typed the following things:
Roam the country side with my hand on your thigh,
Build a fort in the middle of the living room,
lay on a beach and read to each other,
get kicked out of bars as the sun comes up,
have sex in a cave,
kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel and then fight over cotton candy,
follow a band on tour,
never get out of bed...at least for two days,
sail around the world marking on a giant map, each spot we made love,
invest in a costume chest,
start a softball team with our friends,
rent a sports car in England and drive around listening to the Stones,
get drunk in Scotland and solve the mystery of mythical beasts,
grow our hair out and live on a house boat,
support each other in our maniac creativity,
laugh and sweat with feverish enjoyment,
talk in hushed tones about dark things in a cigar bar,
have sex in the back stacks of a library,
roam the land hand in hand,
write poems on bathroom stalls,
invest in a comic book storage locker,
try hard to get gout eating steaks,
once a month see four films in a row,
get lost on a back road and enjoy the day
This list sits tucked
with extra care
and looks forward to you...
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