You and the Sea and the Sun

It seems that all of my life
Has been dictated by how much
I am able to do in the shortest amount of time.
Except for that weekend with you and the sea and the sun.

It seems that all of my smiles
Have depended on how successful I feel
And how necessary I feel to the world.
Except for that weekend with you and the sea and the sun.

It seems that every time I have tipped the bottle back
I have regretted the spots in my backwards vision,
Drowning my emotion in somebody else’s brew.
Except for that weekend with you and the sea and the sun.

It seems that I have been trained to cover up,
That body is bad and skin is sin and naked is never,
To be bare is to be brazen is to be ugly.
Except for that weekend with you and the sea and the sun.

It seems that I fly forward without regretting any
Of the places and people I have left behind
In my quest for life and liberty and meaning,
Except for that weekend with you and the sea and the sun.

It seems that all my memories are fading
Even now my nose cannot recreate your soap
And my eyes forget the dirt and grass growing in yours.
Except for that weekend with you and the sea and the sun.

It seems that I have lost a great deal to the word hurry
I have avoided living at the promise of securing a good life
Handing over the copyrights of my life to the clock.
Except for that weekend with you and the sea and the sun.

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