Flower Queen
Behind that old shack we first met,
she brought candy and cigarettes.
Her lips were like honey, her eyes like a dream,
my July flower queen.
We were always evading her old man,
I'm sure he would have knocked me on my can,
if he found us smoking, laughing, exploring our youth,
we seemed to be on the verge of some kind of truth.
That summer was long,
the air hung like wet burlap sacks,
the frogs chirped, the cats cried,
I swear I never saw more bats.
But when our skin touched,
we couldn't have felt more free,
on those sweet summer days under the sycamore tree.
she brought candy and cigarettes.
Her lips were like honey, her eyes like a dream,
my July flower queen.
We were always evading her old man,
I'm sure he would have knocked me on my can,
if he found us smoking, laughing, exploring our youth,
we seemed to be on the verge of some kind of truth.
That summer was long,
the air hung like wet burlap sacks,
the frogs chirped, the cats cried,
I swear I never saw more bats.
But when our skin touched,
we couldn't have felt more free,
on those sweet summer days under the sycamore tree.
posted by Bricklayercake at 8:40 AM
2 Comments:
ha those days of innocence and exploration....i remember them well....and her dad might have shot me too...
I'm a Dad, and I would have wished you well! For we all still feel, that truth is there....
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