Tuesday, January 22, 2008

campfire tales

i remember lying in that tent

on the hard ground
night silent
night dark
awake like always

Five other people


and the body next to mine

Static Electricity


slowly i moved

my smallest finger



so the very tip

was touching

very tip

(that tip burning like the earlier campfire as the man stepped through it) then

so outside edge

of finger

touched outside edge of finger

time moved

so that seconds

ticked like minutes (longer even)

and minutes moved even slower and further apart

i could feel every tick

within my body

as each twitch


as i wondered

does he sleep?

am i alone in this full waking?


the hands

just barely

just the outside
edge of pinkie
stretching along each millimetre of skin of the edge of the hand

(is there another word for hand~for that bundle of nerves that feels every, each touch?)

every feeling cell of my body
was concentrated on that one small piece of my skin

(i could feel the enormity of that largest organ)

all consciousness, my brain, my whole being, only alive within my hand

my heart beating only there

As the time stretched endlessly by

(eternities passed, and were felt, electrically)

the skin stretched to arms

then, ever possible, if possible

skin stretched slowly along the side of torsos

sliding down

slipping to thighs

knocking to knees

feet brushing together

when did it change

to consciousness?

to lips on lips?

to body on body?

full on touch

full skin on skin

skin to skin (all skin, each skin)

those nerve endings awake


on fire

like never before

When did it change to wordless knowledge?

Silent, sweet intimacy with a stranger


a tent with four other people sleeping soundly


That i will never forget

Will you?

probably already have. Probably did long ago (soon afterwards). Too much wine, too much cocaine. What an odd night. With the crazy drunken man. And the gunshots. And what came after, in the tent.

Is it okay to relish moments like these? To revel in their memory? Excusable to excesses of youth?

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