Late
the party over-
blackened wicks smolder in the
citronella pots
–
constellations-
old friends and
old stories
the party over-
blackened wicks smolder in the
citronella pots
–
constellations-
old friends and
old stories
her face to the sky
sundress plastered to her skin
at one with the rain
–
sandals in hand-
bare feet in
the wet grass
still she counts the ships-
her thick wool sweater stained red
with the setting sun
–
date night-
she sits at a table
set for one
an empty rowboat
tied down to a weathered dock
rocking in the swells
–
salt spray-
the old pier’s
bleached bones
heavy evening air-
silhouettes of hunting bats
in the fading light
–
drawn curtains-
low clouds
full of malice
slowly fading coals-
the clink of empty bottles
being put to bed
–
indigo sky-
crickets singing
around the campfire
tending his garden-
rich black soil etched deep into
his leathery hands
–
honeybees
a thistle hides
among the roses
an old swimming hole-
piles of clothes left abandoned
on the grassy shore
–
a frayed rope swing-
old memories
bittersweet
reliving the past-
why am I drawn back to you
time and time again
–
poison ivy-
the inevitability
of regrowth
your name on my phone-
against my better judgment
I answer the call
–
labor day-
the first taste
of pumpkin spice