dejeuner sur l’herbe

a meeting of minds
beneath the hazels,
the tranquility of friendship,
intensely blue
as a mist of bluebells
starred with stitchwort.
we discussed rimbaud,
beaudelaire,
debeauvoire and sartre,
and posited audacious theorems,
demolished
preposterous propositions,
and sought truth and beauty
in all their varied
and fugitive forms.
but as the evening fell,
like dark fruit from your bag,
still no-one had mentioned
that unquestionably,
irrefutably,
you were naked,
and had been so
all the long
arcadian day.

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