Heavier things

Grass lies strings of light

dancing across a field

the field where we sit

the field where we sit and watch the sun sway

over our bare skin.

Your brown hair mingles

with my fingers

they keep their conversation light

while our eyes speak of heavier things:

the day when the sun shines slow and warm

and wonderful

and I'll walk slowly

and I'll drink it in, the moment

when we get there.

Poetry.

For I am certain.

Just enough to get there.

So we continue