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The Church Camp Out
In the light of the fire,
dry leaves,
your silhouette looks,
pine straw,
both shadow and reflective.
In your darkness,
small branches,
I can see the inky,
bark shavings,
preponderance,
pine cones,
of your staring
paper cups,
directly into me,
used supper plates,
stalking me
candy wrappers,
in the dimly lit,
a few napkins,
smoke,
the news papers,
and chasing the embers,
bags of used paper towels,
with your lips,
the pallets of wood,
teleporting my heartbeat,
the tents and supplies,
into a chasm,
the cars and the sky,
cataclysmic
the moon and the sun,
and bursting,
the universe everything
seething
awareness and imagination
with gaspings
existence and life
and thievery.
Within the flickers
your quaint coyness
plays like a come on,
thoughtless
unconscious
unaware
unnoticing
in violation
of the laws
of thermodynamics
not looking
to such a degree as to be
ignoring my staring back
languidly yearning
and holding back
from hauling you
out into the unprotected woods
and striping you bare
of your foreplaying
flirtations.
Flicker and thought,
strobe and calamity,
breathing in
and hardly breathing,
we sing camp songs
and wait until
everyone else is asleep,
stirring the coals
of the pit,
and talking enough
so our voices insure
that our distance is held
and then later
in moonlight
kissing
impassioned
and embers
and fire
and later.
And yearning.
runningturtle87
dry leaves,
your silhouette looks,
pine straw,
both shadow and reflective.
In your darkness,
small branches,
I can see the inky,
bark shavings,
preponderance,
pine cones,
of your staring
paper cups,
directly into me,
used supper plates,
stalking me
candy wrappers,
in the dimly lit,
a few napkins,
smoke,
the news papers,
and chasing the embers,
bags of used paper towels,
with your lips,
the pallets of wood,
teleporting my heartbeat,
the tents and supplies,
into a chasm,
the cars and the sky,
cataclysmic
the moon and the sun,
and bursting,
the universe everything
seething
awareness and imagination
with gaspings
existence and life
and thievery.
Within the flickers
your quaint coyness
plays like a come on,
thoughtless
unconscious
unaware
unnoticing
in violation
of the laws
of thermodynamics
not looking
to such a degree as to be
ignoring my staring back
languidly yearning
and holding back
from hauling you
out into the unprotected woods
and striping you bare
of your foreplaying
flirtations.
Flicker and thought,
strobe and calamity,
breathing in
and hardly breathing,
we sing camp songs
and wait until
everyone else is asleep,
stirring the coals
of the pit,
and talking enough
so our voices insure
that our distance is held
and then later
in moonlight
kissing
impassioned
and embers
and fire
and later.
And yearning.
runningturtle87
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