I want more poetry in my life,

I want more color, more texture, more sparkle.

I want more enthusiasm and more passion,

If that means deeper love and louder anger then I say yes.

I want more rain and more wind,

More fire and more mud.

I want flowers and flowers and flowers.

I want fruit that drips down my dress and no shame for the mess.

I want my home to be my heart’s place,

I want to feel safe enough to sleep.

I want pottery and hand sewn clothes.

I want monograms and homemade jams and nothing less.

I want to forget time. I hate the rush.

I want to make or enhance the beauty around me. I want to serve and be served.

I want more butter, milk and honey.

And I must confess, I want cigarettes and sex.

I want to skinny dip in the stream, lake, and sea.

I want to feel my heartbeat any chance I can get.

I want to read and sew and weave and widdle.

I want to learn to make candy and drink root-beer floats.

I want to celebrate this life and breathe deep my passion for life , before I forget.

When winter comes I want to be warmed by my own fire.