1 — there's a field (that's only yours)

There will not be a sunset tomorrow,
I offer you the sea bank in return
but the ripples offend.
Our final sleep evades, 
we lay up together you holding my face, my hand holding yours
deciding on ways to spend the eternal day.
First, we would climb a mountain
then we might drink from the river in the valley below.
It'll make us sick but we won't do it alone.
The sickness fades eventually so we sow all that we find.
Move in to the meadow, build a house out of straw. 

There will not be a sunset tomorrow, 
you offer me the beaches
but the ripples offend.
We sit and consider the chances it's true
that day is forever more. 
I don't think I could want it another way
but if the fated night comes, you take it all. 
I yield it all to you.