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Iowa is for Lovers

BY MAX BLOOM

Published March 9, 2010

We could go to the cornfields at night, maybe when the moon is full. We could stroll down the spaces between stalks like they were the avenues of Paris. The shimmering moonlight reflecting off the heads of corn could be elegant streetlights, lighting the way for us as we wandered between cafés and verdant parks. Then we could turn a corner and wander the streets of Venice — marveling at the starry night and embracing beside luminescent canals.

We could set a table for two between the rows of corn; we could look at each other through the shimmering candlelight and we wouldn’t have to say a word. I could make you the most exotic dishes and you would taste them delicately. You would gaze into my eyes, reach across the table and take my hand — and you would smile just so. We could wander down the boulevards until we found a spot to our liking and we could lie down together in the cool grass.

You could rest your head on my chest; we would gaze up at the stars and I could tell you stories for hours and hours. I could tell you love stories and I could tell you fairy tales. I could tell you tragedies that might make you sad and I could tell you comedies that would make you happy again. And for the finale, I could tell us both a story about how we would never fall out of love and how I would never lie to you and how you would never leave me and how our story would end happily ever after instead of with me lying in a cornfield and you lying with him in California.


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