You ignite my picnic of a body, bedecked with an assortment of foods too pickled and procured with oddities to ever be pillaged. You plunge your fingers into my vinegar ****** potato salad and athwart my melonous cantaloupe thighs. I indulge in your embrace as you engulf in mine. Two terribly beatitude lovers emboldening the picnics within eachother. The simonized delight as your hands are the midwives to my parted thighs and my glazed love drenched eyes.