When it gets hot, I will remember the mornings
Crunching November, precisely frosted
Skating the puddles without a worry.
I will cope by wanting to leave a glint
I will walk to the beach to look back
And swim, fatty like, on top of the surf
My muscles will learn to make a moment
I will listen to the radio like older men
When it gets hot, I will reinvent my history
Blending character recently adrift
Cast to an island, exotic and like home
That heats a bowl of leaves.