Old asphalt road faded yellow line,
her lips, the color of sweet red wine,
sunbeams laser, through a hole in the cloud,
she reaches and turns Everclear up loud.

Roger Creager sings about getting drunk,
she sings along, grinning and full of *****,
the miles pass by, she takes landscape pics,
Facebook posts from back in the sticks.

The swimming hole is empty down by the old mill,
I pull out the moonshine from my homemade still,
she takes and sip, the burn makes her hiss,
then she gives me a cinnamon apple kiss.

Big tow rope tied in the cottonwood tree,
I grab the knot and swing-out free,
backflip release, splashing water cold,
she wades in *******, she's just that bold.

The rest of the day spent in summertime fun,
swimming and splashing soaking up the sun,
As darkness falls, we head back the miles,
she puts her head on my shoulder, with a sleepy smile.