Coming Home to You On a Cold Day

dreaming of sailboats and tea,

a little place near the sea.

we'll ride our bicycles

and it will always be a little to cold without a sweater.

i'll write and you'll write in our different corners

come together and eat toast with butter

stew in the fall and sandwiches in the summer

with sand in them

holding hands and walking

resting against tall trees years older than we will become

we'll be poor but happy

we'll miss the sunsets here but watch the billowing smoke from ships at night

fires and bourbon at night

secret hiding holes

and walking alone rolling hills

its cold out