Vintage Days

Higher and higher!
Push me farther!
Hands curled tightly;
around the jet black rubber.
I feel your hands on my back,
granting my request.
I feel as though I'm soaring,
oh take me away simple tire swing!
Take me back to the vintage days!

The days when lemonade was cold,
and records were still cool.
When kids had a say,
and sitcoms were real life.
The vintage days of skirts,
when love was all that mattered.

The grass is sticky wet,
and the ground is cold and hard.
I know it's all just a dream;
and yet I find myself there.
As though I am back again.
Safe under the stars again.
Of course I try to count them.
I made you help me.

Hands stretched upwards,
point out each one.
How cliche is it that our hands met,
and you grabbed onto mine.
Held it tight and smiled in your eyes.

And in my day of vintage exploration,
I found myself falling asleep.
Rocked away blissfully by the melodic sound;
the sound of your voice.

I try desperately to hang on,
hoping for a tire swing to grab again.
I commit it all to memory.
For I am pulled away,
back from my vintage days.