Sometimes in the hot months, in August and July,
We’ll trot up a hilltop, carrying books, and apricots,
And bubblegum. And I’ll look into his eyes
And I see stars and diamonds, and I imagine
That they live there all the time.
Because who wouldn’t want to live behind an eyelid?
It’s quite a beautiful place to be;
What, with certain safety and shelter,
Darkness and brightness,
I will count the rods and the cones,
And savour the saline taste of tears, joyful or sad,
Plus I’ll always be in focus,
And he’ll notice more and more about me;
The colour of my socks,
The wiggle of my toes,
Maybe count the freckles on my cheeks,
Like the stars in the sky, they go on forever,
And suddenly we’ve made it to the hilltop.