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I want to fight with you until we find enough flaws
within each other to collapse and create
new ones worth commemorating
Give me something to feel
Give me something to cry about like a vexed single-mother
threatens her kids when they start whining
at the check-out counter
Break more promises to me and show me how unreliable
you really can be
Take advantage of the fact that I’ll always forgive you
when you hurt me
Let’s just let shit get real

I want to find out you were unfaithful to me
and voted Conservative
I want you to lie to me about the missing change
from my nightstand and use it to buy me an ice cream
sandwich at the nearest convenience store,
but eat it on your way home
and hide the wrapper at the bottom of the trash
while I’m in the next room
If I find the wrapper, get emotional and accuse me of racism
I want to run around chasing baby wolves and see who runs
out of breath or gets gnawed to death first
As long as we celebrate each other’s courage with a round of
tennis afterwards, it’s all love

I want to go to Wal-Mart with you and high-five the greeters,
give them all special nicknames like Ghandi and Einstein
I want to take a picture of you in front of the White House
and send it to Fox News
I want to buy you a pack of fireworks but keep it a secret
for a month or two and set them off in the middle of a
weeknight to wake you up

Let’s set a world record for the most amount of tickles
given to an endangered species during the month of June
Let’s go horseback riding through a forest fire
Let’s hop fences barefoot and lick each other’s wounds
Let’s Krazy glue my left hand to your right hand so we can
still use our good hands to write postcards to our families
and friends about all the adventures we’ve had
They’ll never understand

Britta B.

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