Picnic

Picnic

 

We have our picnic

of bon bons, chocolate and pills

washed down with whisky.

 

You slowly, slowly move around the bed

so you can sit in patches of sunlight.

Your skin goes transparent.

 

I have ten minutes before I have to go,

but I want to stay, try and persuade you

not to go to sleep.

 

You are so horrifyingly beautiful.

Owls are calling our names.

I want to take you to them,

instead I am weak. I stroke your hair.

 

You want me to stay, to keep you awake,

doctors are hovering outside,

Eying me, their faces filled with scars.

 

There are rubies on your lips,

morning rain in your eyes.

 

The smell of coal is in the cold air.

I’ll climb our hillside tonight.

There, you’ll be waiting.

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