every day when you come back, you grab me
there's a sense of home within my hold, you believe
and though you say things, it's not to me
i drive you through the world made of deserts,
and tundras, and canyons, and refrigerators incarnate
through your eyes, excitement boils,
creates exuberance at rises high 
and i'm grateful for the time i give you
because eventually, my responses will die
there are points where i refuse to listen
and your anger is taken out upon me,
but i know the others' fate, and say,
"i know you won't only own three"
your gaze diverts from left to right,
then back from right to left,
and sometimes down at me
when my actions are not bereft 
replacements for me won't last long, you know
because eventually this game will grow
old to you, like i will be
and then you'll see how much i mean