Take me back, take me there:
Arms all goosey with the cold, as the sun said goodbye to us,
He waved in pinky-purple rays, sliding,
At the end of sticky summer days.
Right then the sea was blue, later he’d be red,
(And my eyes be blue instead), but now
He sat in front and sparkled, and you,
Were warm beside (like always),
And there, right then, (like never);
Your arm the oak bough
Above my shoulder, reaching outwards, upwards, and away.
But here we were, here we’d stay,
The warm trees: solid. Frozen.
And leaning still, and interwoven,
Some minutes more.