my ideal

picnics. or, as the french call them, les pique-niques: chip-scooped spinach artichoke dip. melting cakes. plastic-ware and fruit tea. condensation. wrinkled red and white checkers. triangular tomato sandwiches. sundress, top hat, bare feet. ice cream in a cooler - the coldest thing for miles. delve. somewhere the mythology that ants are thieves. not today. a glance. wind pushing the trees, and the trees the wind. overly poetic atmospheres. hills, or no hills. probably a duck-filled pond, definitely not a duckbilled platypus. no need for talk above a whisper. slower-than-normal chewing. eyes catching one another on more than one occasion; purely unaccidental. subsequent caresses. connection to the outside world blocked only by the clouds and the horizon. protection. full bellies. one head in one lap. twin thoughts. two prickling stomachs. a billion butterflies. motions to a kiss. executed with perfection. a familiar mixture of saliva. they've done this before. more strawberries. always strawberries at a picnic. excited prickly regions. 2 minds, 1 thought. pure love. picnics.