As we walk along the woodland path, hand in hand,
tasting the scent of freshly mown grass,
and pine needles’ falling whispers by the little brook
gurgling across the shale, we stop and sit and took
time to talk, making our escape from the carbon scent of city walks,
and spoke of summer.
Days spent by the shore, by the pier and
time spent under the clear Atlantic sky. Near
each other, heart in heart, on the sand and
water, watching too casually the curves
of your swimsuit best left unmentioned here.
Days long and hours short
only nineteen, we swam and slipped and slid
across the wet sand through the ocean waves
always hand in hand
staying out until hours late and talking lovers talk
and how lucky we were to sit in the stillness and silence
and dark by the shore and the waves and the sand,
then driving you home, still hand in hand.