your arms are etched
with red and black
they're the story of summer that I look back
on

have i forgotten the sound of the waves
the soft of the cushion
the games that we played

we learned different strategy
and sing different tunes
my only regret is
that i missed the moons

which marked all the hours
of the days that we spent;
we didn't know curses
we didn't pay rent

the days idled wildy
the nights sauntered on,
your arms tell the story
of the summer that's gone