Lana Del Rey sings her summer wine is made of strawberries, cherries and an angel’s kiss in spring.
I have had no wine but indeed obsession in the past 22 summers, like most of my millennial generation contemporaries.
Burning sun, shorts and long vacation,
which are drifting away as the so called professional career approaches.
I wander and I wonder
on an ordinary summer night
when her summer wine drifts away into thin air,
faded away my summer myth,
even with no lingering vibes.