the Sunset found me in your field,
and I bent the blades of grass against your back
like pillows that could’ve been swords instead,
though the only blood drawn gave life,
a test of love and sacrifice,
but as we bathed in all this bliss,
the Sunset burned upon us, this:
that time cannot be captured or removed,
that love cannot be proven or disproved,
but life is lived from moment here to there,
and of those that I cherish most,
none others will compare.
