Nate

17

The cool grass as a carefree seat,
Fireflies and our four bare feet,
The August breeze whispers secrets, hot and sweet,
To join the swish of our steady steps over cracked concrete,

So swing your rose hips and I'll let you honeysuckle these tulips,

But no matter what they refuse to confess,
Through gentle pleading and hair-raising stress,
Neither one trusts so they have no success,
She laughs with her blonde hair and in her red dress,
He weaves webs of words, augmenting this wonderful mess,

So they continue dancing to the sound of the Latin drummer,
Because he wants her heartbeat - even if only for a summer.