but it's ok, merlot is fine for a picnic

bees wallowing in vinegar stench
where potatos rot in spring sun
i careen amidst your thoughts
on socrates and the process of
vacuuming and dusting

it is left undetermined
whether it matters or whether
dust and my heart can both be scooped up
after the company has left
or if it all must be neat and perfect
when they arrive.

here on the red checkered tablecloth
on the still brown grass
in the still cool sun
there is no urgency to cleaning

only hugs
kisses

and mad mad love.