To Dine On Love

we dine at times
in orchid splendor
with pheasant under glass
fine china
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
to 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 the table

by C.J. Heck

Comments (8)

Very beautiful and romantic but I always ask people to not eat life. All life is for living, pheasants, too.
Wonderful, loved last two lines. You make the reader pay attention even till the end. Regards Patricia
CJ, It's great to see you back! This is an exceptionally well-wrought poem. It was a pleasure to read. It's especially apropos this time of the year. Warm regards, Hugh
Ah, sweet love, whatever covering we put on it. Scarlett
special poem from a special poet, C.J it's lovely to see you back on this site, either I have missed all your posts or you have had better things to do! ! ! ! ! anyhow nice to see your name again. With respect Vincent
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