Ray LaMontagne is singing real soft through that old speaker. Sounds like he’s stuck in a tin box but I don’t mind. I got you in my arms and you got me and we’re swaying to the tune. Sipping tea from a sweaty jelly jar. Rubbing our bellies together and whatever else needs a turn. We sway, sweating a bit on the screened porch. The crickets and the tree frogs, they howl, but I don’t hear it. I got your breath in my ear and your breasts pressed against me. And we sway, and we sway, kissing with lips made of tenderness.