Last lazy vacation morning.
Nowhere to be except out by checkout.
No schedule.
Just you, me, and the open road.
We roll with it
Land where we land
Wrong turns turn into the right ones
Happy accidents.

Your blue eyes dance when you laugh.
In another life you were a sculptor;
Your hands still remember smoothing out round hips and the arch of a foot, toes pointed just so.

State by state I find a new souvenir or two to bring back to my girl and boy.
On my return I will first demand long hugs and plant kisses on downy cheeks,
Then we will sift through a bag of sea shells, postcards, soapstone fish.

Coffee’s ready, baby.
Let’s fly.

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