You Are French Fries In Belgium

You are the light in my eyes

you are French fries in Belgium

you are brie in France

you make me want to dance

to a tune I can’t hear

you make me have no fear

you make me want to fly to the moon

you are starry nights in June

and walking barefoot through the sand dunes

and flying kites and one last bite

and you make me want to bake

another German chocolate cake

and you make me want to roll up my sleeves

and rake up these leaves and clean the yard

then stop working so hard and sit with you

and watch the spider for an hour as she weaves

then thieves the lives of flies and other bugs

you make me higher than any drug ever could

you make me feel so good

you make me melt like wax

you make me want to resist paying tax

you make me want to plant a forest

for the sake of the trees

you make me want to liberate the bees

and let them keep their honey

you make me forget about money

and this might sound sappy

but you make me happy

no matter what color the skies are

you make me want to go far

and stay right here

you make me want to live

another year

you make me want to learn

a hundred more languages

and write you poetry in all of them

or at least be able to translate this poem

into those hundred languages

so these words never bore you

because darling,

I adore you

and darling,

I want to explore you

but not like Columbus

no, I don’t want to colonize

I just want to look into your eyes

while you look in mine

and know that everything will be fine

I want to draw lines with you in the sand

and watch the ocean erase

I want to lay with you in the meadow

and stare out into space

and get lost for hours counting stars

I want to hear stories about the bazaars

I want to roll cigars with the tobacco that we grew

I want to make matching bracelets

that say ‘What Would We Do?’

I want to talk about the 1953 coup

I want to talk about right and wrong

I want to write you a song

and teach the birds to sing along

and the words won’t matter

because it’ll be more of just a tune

let’s find a hot air balloon and fly away

let’s go back to Lyon one day

and play bocce ball and stay again

for the Fête de la Musique,

let’s stay another week

or two or three

or four or five

then drive to Amersfoort

and drink some Persian tea

you make me want to see the world

but also never leave this farm

you make me want to never cause

another being harm

you are my lucky charm

my muse

you are my gourmet chef

and you’re the reason why,

my dear

I’ll never feel bereft

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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