Cherry stained lips in the heat of July,
dripping sweet nothings like peach colored wine.
He called me his sugar, his muse, his flame,
but summer's a dream that won't ever remain.

Lemon light kisses strewn in my hair
his hands are on my hips and pulling me there.
He tasted like heat waves and strawberry sins,
a charm so alluring he ****** me right in.

Now the orchard is quiet the nectar runs dry,
the vines are all empty, silently I cry.
If I close my eyes I can still taste the past,
sweet like a promise and too golden to last.