a picnic

by pmmurphy   Mar 29, 2018


we let the color red bleed through the quilt
where her lips pressed closely among summer grounds,
her eyes, stark and eerily flowing like river rapids
churning out one more intoxicated glance
these hands tremble in her wake,
holding each glass of finely turned merlot
hoping the scarlet tints won’t stain
as each trembling quiver doesn’t forget the echoes
and sounds of each of our names.
I hope this angst fades within the aroma
built around this pleasant dinner
where the ants still carry the message
and let everyone know that we two
forget what its like to eat,
but we surely understand what it means to be full.
full like the glass we forgot to drink from
that we pour across the ground like etchings in a journal.
we opened the area page by page and discovered
what we really thought about eachother,
latching on to eachother, riddling the goosebumps
in our spines. understanding that,
even though we didnt eat at this picnic
we sure as hell love the taste of love.

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Latest Comments

  • 6 years ago

    by Poet on the Piano

    I like the obvious passion in this and almost wild love. There's a hunger yet a fulfilment that food doesn't satisfy, but love does.

    There were a few lines I felt read awkwardly, but if that was your intent to make it seemed rushed and kind of in-the-moment, I could see that.

    "as each trembling quiver doesn’t forget"

    - the "doesn't forget" sounded strange when read aloud. Maybe "never fails to forget". It could just be me.

    "we two" should be "we too"

    I actually think the last few lines are the strongest in the poem. It screams urgency to me. A kind of recklessness or simply two people who just want to lose track of time together, explore each other.

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