We lay in a dandelions field.

He smiles amidst lemon and honey color peels. I feel the earth beneath me. The morning dew seeps into my shirt and wets my skin. The world seems golden as the sun takes its first steps above the horizon.

He was quiet. Did the warmth cradle him to sleep? He turns. He stares at me with his topaz colored eyes; mischievous like a child.
I attempt to joke. He laughs; yellow and green on a summer’s day.

Our fingers are inches apart but I can’t move fearing it might break the spell between us. So I lay there in comfortable silence.
Our fingers brush. Dandelions swirl at our feet. The blossoms drift through the wind as he tries to catch them; failing, then grasping my hand, tight.

Warmth.
Heat.
Electricity.
Fire.

The ridges between my fingers are where his fits perfectly. The sunlight gives his face an amber glow. The grass grows into his hair. The sundial stood still.

The light gently kisses the hillside, travelling from treetop to treetop. We align ourselves and breathe as one; one light; one mind.
I find protection in his grip; solace in his corny words; soul in his beating heart and sleep in the sound of his breath.

We lay in a dandelions field.