A lightly scorched
marshmallow
is the aura of the porch.
Where splintered, soaking
floarboards waterlog
our socks.
Ash and clover clouds hover
beneath the chocolate liquor sky
Edvard Mmm stretches
our faces, with laughter echoing
the night. Stories bellow
across a sugar ring stained
table, and soggy socks
dance like children’s noodle legs dangling
edged off oversized seats.
The wind tonight, is a soft yellow kiss
pressed fondly against
my blush cheek.
Poetry | Journal 
Leave a Thought Below