Upon returning from camping

Stomping ankle deep in fresh, slick mud
After a summer thunderstorm.
Horizontal sheets of piercing water droplets
Bullying into my skin like little daggers.
The three of us,
Floating freely under a perfect purple moon
With nothing to hide and no questions.
None except
Why Adam and Eve were embarrassed
After original sin,
And covered their alabaster skin with dead animals.
Their poor aching hearts,
Burdened with the pain of loosing God,
Whereas I only hurt because I have not seen him
For three weeks.
The clouds hover dangerously close to the stars,
Those carefully cut up chunks of light
We stay up late to sleep under.