With the belief it’s important to stay

organized when our lives get all hectic.

I’m in bed with the girl poking fun

at her need to keep lists.

Half naked here in my arms,

she’s poking me because of my words.

The irony that I make such a big deal

about all her notes and goals,

when I’m the one chronicling all the details

from one day to the next and so on.

It’s my personal belief that

this girl keeps lists as memory triggers,

she knows better than being my boss

after all, I’m the poet who

records her every move.

I’m buried with all these things to do,

my finish work, she calls it exactly right.

I’m lying here with a beautiful girl,

she encourages me to try and keep writing.

Disappearing underneath the sheets,

comforter and pillows.

The girl with the flawless memory

keeps a score between us, she wants me

to try and keep up with her.

Who’s to say that keeping lists

is necessarily a better way to stay on task?

She’s reaches her intended target,

I’m erect and paying close attention,

as she starts naming off

all the pretty things between us both.

I promise to be faithful to her lists,

if it means I get this kind of attention

in exact detail, I’ll make her proud

showing all the others how it feels

to have this one highly driven girl

kneeling against my temperamental side

after all, I’m the poet, in charge of words.

It’s early Sunday morning

and I’ve hidden all the paper in the house,

she’s just going need to be verbal

like in the animal prehistoric days

the oral tradition, using her quick mouth

to slowly speak the story to life.

Giving exact detail, highlighting

all the exciting facts until climax.

I swallow hard trying to listen,

while watching each syllable

expressed from her throat, it’s such

a turn on watching her

explain why her lists

are her way

of remembering

what I like.