'I Long, Too'

I long to:

Drink whiskey with you,

and discuss matters beyond our grasp—

in an attempt to expose meaning;

And watch movies we both have seen,

and also ones we haven’t,

while you fall into the screen and I gaze over;

And to argue points so miniscule

that we both end laughing;

And to take a walk down a familiar road,

then down one so unfamiliar we both feel new;

And to dress up with you in our finest attire—

to enter a ball, or a jazz club, or a fancy restaurant;

And of course you’ll aid me in choosing what to wear,

while I gasp at the site of your long dress,

with my attention so fixed I almost neglect my own attire,

And then to get dirty with you, in the fields and forests,

with a basket only we filled— with wild greens and flowers and berries;

And to dance with you on the kitchen floor,

while our sauteed greens get slightly over cooked—

just enough so the garlic becomes barely burnt,

but we don’t care because the dancing is so good;

And to feel full with you, so that we’re quiet for a while,

while we digest and gain anew;

And to swim in freshwater with you, but not so readily—

as I must insist on your dive, maybe even pushing you, or pulling you in

but then you relax in the water;

And to run through white sand with you,

to the salty sea in a land foreign to me, into the waves we’d fall,

as the salt gets in my eyes and mouth;

And to meet the locals in this foreign land—

but not alone ‘cus you’re next to me, with me

And to exchange massages, disagreeing on who gets to go first

because we both want to be rubbed last;

And then to disagree with you on something big,

on something small, and on something that doesn’t matter at all;

And to watch the fire die as our toes get cold,

we play a game of footsie, for warmth's sake;

And to go to sleep with your warmth next to me—

while we dream our own dreams, together;

And to create something next to you, while you create your own—

different, unique, wonderful, unattainable to me,

as is mine to you;

And to wear what you made, or share what you did

with the people I know, and you’ll do the same;

And to walk with you into a world of fear,

only to have those fears dissolved,

as we soften the hard world for one another.

And to make a list with you, of things to do—

written, or conjured in our minds,

but we’ll complete only a few, as we must leave room for more;

And to read a poem to you, one that I wrote,

or one that I didn’t, but just a poem that I think you’ll like.
And to do nothing at all with you,
because we never needed more than that
to feel content.