Itchy but this won’t always happen, it’s just your time right now, in a few months you’ll be gone, no tiny fangs in the cold, small gnashing lost to season; as it is you bite in summer’s sunlight.
Saturday morning becomes simple with you by my side, magnifying the open with nothing to hide; you're the bestest surprise, with the summer in your eyes.
In the house where fought was known as nothing i'll gallop up the stairs with a bounding born of what you gave to me; super strides and a chance to see.