Luckiest Pool Boy

She inspires this great vision, we slip away for a weekend getaway. Somewhere warm like, like the warmth of the sun's heat breaking across the forehead. The sweat is good, my pocket knots are clammy. My linen shorts are shrunk in the sun, my V-Neck is soaked. Chillin' poolside, we found a motel off the Route 460 exit for Farmville, VA. On our way on a dip to the Southside. The drip is real. She's icy; she's like liquid gold. She got that flowmotion and I'm diggin'.

I liken the similarities to the roadside retreats of the 1960's. Motorlodge suites with a pool view. With something sensual about the trip, I'm spellbound by her appearance on the floaty. I feel like the luckiest pool boy on the planet. She's my Queen, just drifting in luxurious accommodations as I give my attention solely to her. She buzzes around, I catch her in my net. We're on that connective level, just me and her. Like a page torn from a 1963 Playboy magazine, we are on our groove at the Motor Court. Soaked in nostalgic swag, our soul's glow.