Don't drink the water

Grass used to hug me and conform to my curves. I had a lovely bed of green eyelashes to rest upon underneath warm blue skies. We went on our picnic dates, me in my white dress, you wearing red shirts that made me laugh because you looked like a lady bug. We'd sit on the blanket your grandmama made with dedicated hands and tender heart. Competitions to see who could peel their oranges first; you'd win because you had hands just like your grandmama: dedicated. I know you had a heart just like hers too. Picnic dates with blankets, oranges, water and giggles. And the grass that was soft and harmless and came in waves under my body. I swear I was carried away by green currents. And the picnic dates where there was no blanket, just soft grass and we would watch the clouds pass by in the blue sky. There were puffs of smoke and cottontails and white dresses. You pointed out a lady bug, but that was foolish because that means that the sky would bleed, and in those days, that wasn't possible. The sun was warm, as were your hands, and when we were lazy in the grass, your hand crepty across the thick eyelashes into mine and we'd sit in silence. Then you'd hum a tune, and only sing parts that you actually knew. Either way, a smile grew, bright, like the sun was warm. In those days, I tanned in the grass that hugged my curves and didn't stain my dress in envy. I was white like my dress on our first picnic date of that summer. By the end of the summer, I was brown and that damned dress was like a lonely cloud in the crystal blue sky, against my skin. Stark.Our fingers laced together and only cupped by the stream to relieve our faces from the heat. That summer cultivated a love, just as it made the fields of grass shimmer like emeralds in the sun.

just an experiment of something...