Let's indeed.

Let's see the country, spend our nights on the other side of New York, 

never letting the hours tell us what to do.

Let's play two rounds of our favorite game

and put the album on shuffle

and repeat it thrice before going to bed.

We could go kiss under some structure that we've only seen pictures of,

make sense of a place that other people can't define

but we can

because it belongs to everybody

but mostly us.

Let's keep the windows open so the room stays cool

because my heart beats faster around you

and keeps my blood on like an oven;

it won't matter if you turn it off

because standing time will keep me cooking

and I'm destined to burn.

Let's buy pillows that only match because we compromised,

and take the bus together on our way inwards

and lose ourselves in that city

that we took the night train back and forth between
last spring.

We can kiss in the car like teens,

which we'll never stop being.

I want you to make the Mountain Music playlist with me

across a tent we'll share and a blanket that gets lost between the two of us.

Let's go somewhere we've never been.

We can talk about the next adventure 

and teach each other phrases in languages that don't matter

but mostly because our hands speak a language that makes more sense than Spanish

even though I love Spain.

Let's go to Spain.

The boarding passes are on the counter,

next to our passports

and our youth

and your eyes

and a map of nowhere and everything.

Let's get out of here.