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I want to write with pen on paper 

(in fact that is how this poem came to be) 

Each word birthed with ink filled strokes sinking deeply into the fine tooth layers 

Inspired words fervently rendered and rejected, rendered and rejected 

I want what has been aged, grown old with me 

Nothing new 

Gray versions of ourselves 

Complexity 

I want film to shoot my dreams how I see them 

Blurred faces, figures, turbulent storms, confusion  

A darkroom, with a split seconds of light - glimpses 

So much potential to create beautiful things, beautiful things 

Recipes on scraps of paper hidden inside of books 

Folded love notes kept locked inside dresser drawers 

Each line, each syllable committed to memory 

Tucked away, treasured tethers to perfection 

I want the song, the music, the artist 

Nostalgia written about rich living 

Notes chosen for each expression 

Creativity built upon freedom, living

I want truth and I want irony 

I want you coming back home to me