Frankie Goes to Summer Camp (I.P.)

“On far-off fields, by elm and oak,
I see the lights. The Camp-fires
of the Past are burning.”
Henry Van Dyke ‘Indian Summer’

To the timpani of cicadas,
speechless we lay, counting
the fireflies and the stars...
Our intention, at least, except
my gaze didn’t make it that far...

And of stars there were plenty;
sprays of tiny brown ones
on her shoulders and her arms...
and her eyes flashed
more colours than Sirius.

Beneath the night
of her skin, azure streams,
that fed the Seas of Tranquillity
and of Nectar, ran deep...

Such was her beauty;
a kind of aura – running rings
around the moon. Even
the braces on her teeth, shone
a moonshine kind of brilliance...

When you’re almost thirteen
and a budding Valentino,
you’ll even wax lyrical...
to bag Grade Seven’s
French-kissing queen.