The picnic

Photograph: Dougal Waters/Getty Images

I dispatch our ships in to the high seas of the embroidered plastic table cloths clipped to old tables on their last leg. The dripping water melon juice meets an army of seeds that know no commander in handkerchief. Our affections blind to the boundaries of that no man’s land, travel from the safe lands to the mine fields. My head hangs off of the picnic blanket like a waterfall flowing to a valley of disbelief. The inappropriate smirk on my face beckons the mercy of the bees. My protests forever silenced by your lips. I melt into the high grasses, the underbrush, the mud, the rustling trees tattooing my skin. I exhale and allow myself to get lost in this. Alas, this may at last be bliss.

--

--

--

Chaos is in you, it folds with every beat of your heart. You find me here and now; But I am already gone to join forces with the enemy of time.

Love podcasts or audiobooks? Learn on the go with our new app.

Recommended from Medium

Pandemic Verses #4 — Undocumented

To all the writers in progress

Thy Defiance to UnShine Is Blunt — November Poem Competition

My heart cries a river!

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
E. Saglamer

E. Saglamer

Chaos is in you, it folds with every beat of your heart. You find me here and now; But I am already gone to join forces with the enemy of time.

More from Medium

The art of choosing

Back to photo walks — City center and Xmas markets

It’s tough being the “IT Guy” in this relationship, Part II Outsourcing is Good(2010ish)

A Sacred Space