Friday

is a ball of pure yellow fire

rising above the horizon

spilling

golden light

across the blades of grass

reflecting off the dew

warming the entirety of my world

and

it

only fades

when our embrace ends.

Friday

says she can't let me go

and I know the feeling

like falling

or flying

or both

headlong into

time

passing

to

quickly

by.

I see her

see me.

Know

she understands

that the step

off of this

edge

leads

headlong

and

unfailingly

to

not

another

man;

but

to

the

last

one.