We headed out west,
The sun on her vest,
Made the cotton alive,
And dance on her chest.

Her jewellery exclaimed,
All of which remained,
The words within her lips,
Had still to be named.

"How good to be free",
She said suddenly,
I refused to pretend,
"It's all Greek to me".

She held her belt tight,
As we drove through night,
With the track of a tear,
Reflecting moonlight.

Embracing the heat,
We stopped in the street,
And approaching a farm,
We slept in the wheat.