There is a field where
I have never been;
I could only have visited it
In a dream.
Where sunsets surf the
wild flower grass,
hot air balloons traverse
a sky that has been cursed,
to endow a setting a sun.

Escaped the family cries
caused by family ties,
under a thundering air path
as easy jet flies over us.
Bumblebees are caught in traffic
over mists of summer haze.
I don't think I have ever been more in love,

with a place.
Purple flowers bloom under an eye,
pale Cowslip stretched over each bone.
Even the sky has darkened to a fathomless depth
in which I cannot help but drown.
Where am I now?

Tomorrow it will rain here,
wash away the summer scents,
wash away the golden light
and the very sense of a past held tight.

Could this place be any better?
What if I had to remember
a different voice,
a different shape
to frame the end of my favourite day?