Sunday

Purple is now intoxicating.

Imagine a night cast white by the moonlight,
Stood in a country field, with a summer wind blowing through the darkness.
There is one yellow tree in the corner,
Where we will sit back against the wood and inhale the warm starlight.
It is like this place has been drawn for us,
Or like we have met up here in a dream where no-one can find us.
A secret hiding place in the hug of a make-believe moorside scene,
With only deep space beckoning us towards a million winkers,
Shaded brown fields under the honey leaves of the tree,
And you taking two stars from above the sky to look at me.