How I tire of only going on planes
      To travel to places where all I do
Is follow the directions of a sickly sweet travel book
       Picked up from a bookstore that has never been anywhere.

How my eyes hunger for new places
    My feet to be numb from too much walking
My lips and tongue ache to speak with new people
     And my being longs for new experiences in a strange land.

Were that the butterflies in my stomach
       Could grow teeth so that they could break free
I would rein them in with rope woven from my hopes and dreams
       And follow the horizon until I find the right place.

Somewhere adventure is out there
        Waiting for me.