354: Learned to Love

He picks a wooden splinter

from the pad of his finger

and snipes a remark

at his grumbling friend.

He drops the splinter

into the campfire

while golden red

pearls in its absence,

and smiles

like embers after sunset.

All you can do is laugh

as his gaze skips to you,

warmed by the flames,

and his friend bristles

in indignation, but you

have already forgotten the joke.

You gaze, enraptured by fire

reflected in darkness,

like stars

flickering above

a purple cityscape,

and you wonder if this

is how gods have learned to love.

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.