As part of the swing, i feel, summers breath on my neck, stirring the hair that lays flat the taste of the sun, forcing my tounge out for cool air the smell of green water, that clings to my skin touch of the grass, now slightly yellowed, always under my fingertips but just out of reach, never close enough for me like a butterfly, slipping out of your hand like the last drop of water, never reaching your mouth like running, never reaching the moon the taste of the sun, the smell of green water, summers breath on my neck.