Please, do not tell me our love
is like the glow of some eternal
moon; a cold, hard rock
light years from here
where we lay in the summer grass
with the crickets and dirt under our nails and bare feet.
And do not compare
what we feel for each other
to infernos or licking candles,
matches flicked and sparkling in the night;
But allow the embers from our campfire to smoke and smolder,
burning our marshmallows black as the sun rises.
-L. Gamari
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