Fingers interlocked in collaboration racing down a beaten bank,
Where the grass nervously flattened and the river grazed the sea,
With the laughter of your carefree heart reaching far beyond the driftwood planks,
And dancing with inhalation, as it came to rest in me.
The drowsy swarm of summer, the two of us layed in a poppy field,
With the passion of the petals, that vibrant red, our love revealed,
Plateau of secret devotion, emotion shown as layers were peeled,
Our love exists below that opium mist, where we fumbled half-concealed,
And down to the river embankment, on which the daisies grew,
You fashioned me a necklace, of a pale pure and yellow hue,
And the dew from my neck you wiped away as the morning sun drew close,
And held me tightly, tasting my love for you and dribbling your prose.
Allowed your fingertips to creep beneath the folded creases in my clothes,
And brush the longing from my body, as you forced your love to grow.
Often we'd dance along the woodland path and hide between the trees,
Tip-toe like a silent fox, careful not to tread on fallen leaves,
Swallowing our shallow breath in a harmless effort to decieve,
A game we used to play, when we were young, at seventeen.
Soon our naive perspective fainted with the summers reign,
And it no longer became our custom, to carry on these childish games,
We lost touch, you moved away, on the first rise of winter dawn,
And took all the innocence I had when summertime was gone.
Back to the beaten hillside, where the daisies wilt and die,
As if our selflessness was all they had to keep themselves alive,
It's here my heart cries out for you, it's here that I reside,
Praying for the return, that summer of 1989.
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