Warm hearts pressed against each other,
beating, beating, beating.
Staying swollen inside,
with pride and some mellow
loving.

They sway like fat branches,
dangling from that plum tree
in the garden. Tender
bites equate to almost
nothing.

Himeros calls to them.
They can only hear him
whilst longing, so sadly,
for their gazes to meet
again.

The picnic basket falls,
silently the wine spills
and their hearts untangle.
Reach for that connection:
there is no more.