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
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