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They picnicked in bed.

You know they couldn't leave,

The floor was too covered

With all of their clothes.

They would slip, they would fall

Create all kinds of havoc,

If even, if ever, they even would ever,

Ever, dare to even leave their  bed.

So they stayed,

and they picnicked

On the hollow of his neck,

The soft curve of her shoulder.

The kisses tasted savory

of uneaten chocolate,

the skin burned red

from unbottled wine,

They never touched nourishment,

But picnicked indeed,

The smell of his heat,

the perfume of her rose

Met in a mixture

They ate with a spoon.

Are you hungry my dear?

I made you a sandwich.

But it falls uneaten

to the top of the pile

Of tossed away clothing

In mounds on the ground.

They dress each day

without leaving the bed

And undress all the rest

in the mind of the other.

The only food they devour

Are the nibbles they shared

From eaches own flesh,

The hollow of his neck

The curve of her shoulder,

Until one day

in the middle of the week,

all that they found

Was a very large spoon

And cast away clothes  

In mounds

On the ground.