Dining on Love
We dine at times in orchid splendor, pheasant under glass, fine china, lace, a rare aged wine, and whisper in candlelight. We dine at times on dandelion picnics, an indian blanket on the grass, radio crooning love songs, beer and paper plates, playing ‘loves me-loves me not’ in the stars. We dine at last and after either in blood-red roses style the props are gone, not needed now, we feast upon each other till sleep excuses us from our table ...
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