Sun-Drenched Grass Banks

We go on a pilgrimage to the country with baskets of food and blankets and honey wine
to lay out and worship the sun and capture her light in our glasses
grass between our toes and river waterfallen on our legs
temporarily forgetting reality and heartbreak (perhaps)
we are drunk on summer and our skin is toffee-coloured
the sweet and bitter skin of fruits in our teeth, seeds, hands and mouths stained by berries
fumbling hands that wander further over and under
broderie anglaise glimpses unseen skin
we are blinded by white light and each other
spilling amber liquid on clavicles and ankles by accident so that it bubbles and froths and cools
we stay in the forest clearing by the waterfall until the shadows stretch over us and the heat fades and brings goose pimples and shivers (of lust or of cold?)
then everything is packed away and shoved into the car, including us
as we crank up the stereo of lazy voices and guitars and silently reflect on our lives