Blue, isn't it,

you said.

Sweat ran down my skin.

Hot, isn't it,

you said.

I felt the same.

Season,

don't go.

An empty glass.

The sweat begins to dry.

It was morning.

Now it's night.

Before I knew it,

I was walking home alone.

Sour and pale.

Hot and precious.

The blazing sun

still holds your light,

still lets you shine.

I chase your back.

From night into morning,

I'll change the story.

Laughing and leaping,

little by little.

Talking,

drawing closer,

little by little.

Season,

I've been waiting.

A fresh white canvas of clouds.

Rain and sweat

let the colors bleed.

The fierce sunlight

burns the edges just a little.

Our summer.

Guided by your fresh voice,

I follow the trail of sweat.

The wind runs across our skin.

A finger traces the coastline.

Summer's warmth

passes from skin to skin.

A new summer.