My Swolen Desire

I've never understood how desire feels. Gathering fire, wood. Noticing this is real. Camping in a large forest, Under the most wonderful sky. Wooded fantasies - must resist. Nature's seductive aroma - must deny. Because I would get lost If I chose to venture off. And I could get dirty in the mud so soft. Can't I help my urges to climb the stiff and sturdy vine? Though the poison should be a sign, that little rash is worth the divine. My eyes can't help but spot every beautiful ugly thing. The rabbits, the birds, a buck whose presence makes my heart sing. Unexplainable are these emotions. So powerful I'd feel them from mountains to oceans. I lie awake in my tent all night. It's the moist morning fog that ends the internal fight. I use the fresh, early light to guide me through the pine. I'm allured by a log. Through the wet summer air the sun shines. So wet the swollen and soggy log. Still, I leave everything behind. My palms' oils mix with the miry wet blanket within the lumber. If my pulsing veins made sound, they'd emit thunder. I'm loving this tree where, above, birds have once flown. I've forever wanted to see, in a log, a young flower now groan.