Campfire: A Poem

CAMPFIRE

 

They sit with their knees

almost touching, almost

but not quite lovers.

Not a word passes between them.

 

They are mesmerised

by the flames, the kaleidoscope of

yellows and oranges and reds;

the place they call home.

 

Sizzling pops fill the silence

and the warmth

is like a blanket enveloping

the cold, damp forest.

 

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