“I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun” – Don Henley, Boys of Summer
The radio’s playing the soundtrack of summer
memories of your warmth, burnt upon my lips.
Looking out the window at skeleton trees
all our yesterday’s seem so far away.
My frost-bitten hands crave sunburnt nights
that smelt of heat and summer sunshine,
the caress of your parchment skin
as merciful as desert sunsets.
Through crystallised water panes
I stare down these empty road ways
driving, alone, with nothing but the cold midnight moon
and the soundtrack of summer playing on the radio.
While I’m wondering if I’ll ever make it back
to the crackle of your sunburnt lips on mine
when everything was sun kissed and simple,
The Boys of Summer, replaying silently in my head.
© Indie Adams 2012