On my knees, the snow builds upon my shoulders
The winter deep upon the land, my brow furls, not here, not here.
I see the white beach and your blonde hair falling across those tan shoulders.
The trade winds rustle your hair, to be there, to be there.
The wind is bitter and rushes across my face,
my moustache freezes stiff, icing up, lips cold, not here, not here.
The sun hot and radiant beats down upon my face,
I'm clean shaven, basking in your glow, your soft lips upon mine, please let me be there, to be there.
Struggling to stand, hands shoved in the snow, the numbness floods my fingers,
burning cold, sizzling in pain, not here, not here.
Hear the crash of the surf, my hand runs through your hair, tresses slip through my fingers.
My hands roam across your shoulders, need to be there, always there.
The last of my strength ebbs, battle over, fall on my face,
Cheeks and nose freezing, my eyes flutter, not here, not here
Your hands on each cheek, cradling my face.
Drowning in your eyes, my lips crushed against your lips, must be there, nowhere else to go.
