Picnic of Sorts
one ethereal afternoon . . . .I guess I must have drifted away You moved your hand to shade my eyes I stepped up into the clouds reached down to pull you into me We left that world far below on the outskirts of yesterday I loved how your blue gingham dress fluttered between my fingertips With every moist and heaving sigh you shimmered like an oasis of lights The afternoons were longer then You whispered in the palm of my hand as I savored the back of...