Memories of Summer

Oh, how simple life was,
when time had no meaning or constraints.
Each day began and ended with
the promise of no worries,
that was, until the summer of 69.

During a summer storm, careless drops
splattered against window panes
enticing dry scrupled thoughts
to dance with wild abandonment.

Carefree and careless moments bared no shame.
Shy and awkwardly we held hands, later
to play a kissing game only to discover the ache
and need to remove our cloaks of youthful ignorance.

Finger painting took on new meaning
when we each had a canvas of flesh
to explore and discover;
each touch, stoke and swirl created
new colors of kaleidoscopic waves that ruptured
within our bodies. And kisses went beyond lips,
lips that would later wrap around little white lies.

Oh, how easily life changed
in those few moments
as reality settled in-between
our silence thoughts,
thoughts which enslaved us
to time and worry as new youthful adults.

Yes, it was during the summer of 69
when I decided to become an artist.