I like to think that both parties bring a basket but
I know it isn’t true. I bring the basket
and you bring the appetite.
I bring the blanket too, and utensils
—I know, it hardly seems fair!—but your
hunger stirs me (or something).
I pour you the first drink
and place a sandwich before you.
Rifling through your pockets
(you must have something to add!)
I find a knife
and cut everything open.
I happy to thinking that all festivities take basket
but not correct. The basket is with me
and you are a hunger.
I am taking blanket also and spoon and fork
—I am knowing, it looks like not just!—however a
hunger makes me changed (or something else).
I spill for you the first beverages
and lay, first, hamburger.
Gunning throughout the pants,
(it’s not possible that you don’t have any!)
I am finding the knife and
making everything open.