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A Riverside Picnic In Greece

The sea is gurgling
slothfully, lazily
like the wind in our hair,
like the cake we baked in the oven together,
like the music we dance to each night
like the latern lit Greek street we meander through,
of corners filled with sapphire domes and cryptic whispers
that remind me of the night of tears
and the bloody ropes and knuckles still trigger me
and force me to look back at the scars ,
like the catacomb quiet forces us to look at the winter moon
though with great difficulty as the sea smoke blurs our view
like the maze of secrets we can’t manage to walk out of
so I won’t tell you about it tonight
on our riverside picnic.