Cold Feet

 

When I think of red I think

Of your toes in the sand

On that bitter June day

With those sunlit grey clouds.

 

When I think of sea I think

Of steam from a kettle,

Its billows dancing to

The chants of the gulls.

 

When I think of summer I think

Of wet socks on white radiators

After long drives sucking Rosy Apples,

Which we fought over.

 

When I think of you I think

Of strong hair, dimpled hands, misty eyes,

Fast days, endless nights,

A childhood that only we share.