Naked Picnic

the grass makes perfect lingerie my dear drape yourself across the yard and I’ll feast on an audience of ants traipsing crumbs across our makeshift bedroom while my fingertips march over your gentle slopes of leftover snow dripping icy tears into mud we swirl into our skin and exposed cracks in the sidewalk that burns our unprotected soles souls perhaps bared under glinting skies isn’t it lovely my dear dancing naked in the grass and breaking our own hearts on the rocks