I hope to kiss you behind the boat shed one night. After we've stacked and washed the canoes. Hands still dirty. Stomachs full of pasta that we didn't make. You'll tell me about living in Baulkham Hills and how it helped you learn to tie your shoelaces. That you've been knotted ever since. Tangled. Roped up to something you're not quite sure about. You're piling things up on your head, and hoping that you won't drop them.
I have a spare hand you know.
We'll get in our favourite vessel and set sail, and you'll sing loudly to the lion king as I navigate by starlight. Hopefully we'll discover something. A sand bank or school of fish. I'm not fussy.
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