February 14 by The Running Son
the picnic ━♡━>
I have waited for you. I have
tended the grass in the meadows.
I have padded a place in the rye
lined with passion and petals.
I’ve created a reason to fast,
a reason to feast, a purpose to ration,
a reason to fashion new storage
for seeds, new reasons to forage
through seasons, my high heart
still beating, my breath barely leaving,
the small part still breathing hard
slowing, half lotus, a sigh.
And though old blades
may bend, drying to earth,
drinking to mend—I never once
ever doubted you’d arrive.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.