You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will.

I want to go sightseeing.
I want to swim 
and look at the mountains.
I want to drive
down old roads.


I want to sit in a
darkened cinema
and hold your hand
without speaking.


I want to walk
all the city blocks
and take a bus 
into chinatown.


I want dusty 
old cactus trails
into an ancient
natural beauty.


I want to stand
on top of a hill,
and fly kites.


I want to take the train,
sit with you
and say small words
on our way to a misty,
clouded seaside,
where the sea is green.


I do not want
to do all of this work,
which is pointless.


I do not want to
sit on this sofa,
rotting away in the quiet.


I do not want 
the life constructed
for me.