Mine's not a High House

I am running out barefoot to collect freshly laid eggs in the morning. A little cracked pepper and salt over a poached two on crusty, gutsy bread for you.
On a hot summer night, they'll crown the best salad nicoise you'll ever try. The sun will be twinkling through the bowing trees in the backyard. We'll chase the dog around and play like children under the sprinklers until we collapse onto the soft grass and make love, shedding our wet clothes.
In winter eve's, we'll have a drink in the bath, paint beards out of the bubbles and suds and rub each others feet as we talk about great exotic plans and ventures.
We'll stain cookbooks with splashes of gourmandism, whilst preparing caring feasts for friends. Creamy soups with thickly buttered bread, pungent curries heaped with fresh coriander and my poire tarte tatin.
When you walk in the door (the best sound) I'll tiptoe to reach your height and level myself with your loved face with those eyes and those lips, throw my arms around you and thank the universe for allowing me.
Should I rise from a nightmare, the smell of your chest will bring any of my lost ships safely back to harbor.
Quiet weekend mornings reading the paper, interrupted only by the occasional 'hey, listen to this...'. Midnight munchies of toast sitting in our underwear on cold kitchen stools. I'll butter yours if you butter mine.
We won't have much money, but will spend it thoughtlessly on good wine and punnets of fresh berries.
Nights apart, making our own seperate memories will be worth the distance just for missing you. Just wake me when you arrive home so I can say goodnight.
You'll know how to make me laugh and what to say when I don't want to, but also when to simply stop me, trace my lips with your fingers and hold me strongly and without hesitation.
I may wear the same dress a few days in a row, walk into the house with grubby knees and leaves in my dishevelled hair after spending the afternoon lazing around the garden, but I will feel more beautiful than ever.
I propose we both have our own seperate rooms. I will most likely paint in mine and collect things older than us. I won't ask or judge what you do with yours.
If you've had a bad day I'll promise not to question you, unless you are wanting to talk about it and not to touch you until you are ready, fighting the urge of standing next to your chair and holding your head in my arms and kissing your hair.
Should your friends come by unanounced and feeling blue, I will let you do the listening and talking and pour you both a drink. I know you'll switch the kettle on for mine.

And when I finally find you, you'll have already found ME.