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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 10, 2018

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Submitted: June 10, 2018



The old black fibers of the round trampoline,

stretch back again as I settle into the middle

Outwardly rusted metal and aluminum rings creak with age


and I wonder if they still remember the weight

of two young bodies

laying like a pair,

then stacked like rabbits


as I remeber sinking deeper

into the center on that black midnight

feeling trapped beneath pale-blue stars and protective netting

wondering where the shadow of the trampoline ended

and the sky began

as I fell into see of stars

twinkling in my adolescent eyes


when I connected with you in darkness

feeling so unsure

as to where your lips ended

and the sweet taste of midnight began


while we became arrow hands on the circle clock of a trampoline

rolling right onto one another

while the clock struck one on adulthood.


Now, resting here,

alone in the middle

I think back to when these round coils didn't creak as much


with the thought of black, bouncing trampolines at midnight

on my mind again

© Copyright 2019 C.J. Short. All rights reserved.

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