If I had a dollar for every poem I ever wrote,
I wouldn’t even have a grand.
How on Earth would I pay the monthly rent,
buy our food,
survive
darling?

I guess a goat & a yurt
doesn’t sound so bad after all.
We could start a garden,
grow some tomatoes & drink
fresh unpasteurized raw milk,
We could even make soap.
Fixin’ a hole in the ceiling would
just take a needle and thread.
What a simple life we’d lead,
we could actually talk to each other.

And in the winter,
we could spoon,
snuggle underneath
a real buffalo rug.
It would be groovy.
You could tug on my ear lobe
with your pretty teeth
& whisper how much
you loved me.