The setting sun in it's vibrant orange and reds
Casting the land in sepia tones
The grasses swaying in the cool breeze
The smell of fresh cut hay tickling my nose
I am closer to you this eve
As I leave where I have been
so close, five minutes to your door
I will not go
I will say no
Not tonight, or on the morrow
This weekend though
The sepia soaked land
Will give way to our night
our stars
our very own celestial bodies
I wait in inpatient anticipation
To see your face
Hear your timber
Feel your skin against mine
For on the weekends
The nights are ours
To indulge in each other
After the sepia lands lay to rest