Whistle

Back in the sun where the story begins, imagining the salty sun on your skin...

Back below the sky where the story begins,
Where I could taste a salty sun on your skin.
The wind and the wave make a strange new friend
Wrapping the warm embrace of you around me,
A lingering you, but secretly we know it's only pretend.

But still, I think of the boy that took my hand,
And then sat us with out feet in the waves,
Fingers in the sand.
It seems when you're alone that nothing's the same
Between now and then, but really nothing's changed.

The white boats are bobbing in the blue of the bay,
The sun still melts in bloated orange rays;
And the Summer is sinking into the wimpling wave:
Leaving its taste on sun-kissed limbs
But only a ghost of the taste of him.