Wooden Cabin Porch Poem by Aimee Rozen

The soft wood of my rustic cabin porch
cools my legs.
The ripples seen in the wooden planks
are matched upon my skin.
A cool midnight breeze
flows freely past my face
sending chills up my spine.
I shiver and I feel I've lost control.
My stomach tightens up and
my hair stands on end.
I can feel each and every goosebump
as I run my hands up and down my arms.
I remember I have a lit cigarette
only because the cherry has burnt my skin.
Instinct makes me dropp it and
it falls into my puddle of spit
getting stuck like a fly to fly paper.

My lips are dry and cracked.
I drag my tongue across them
trying to bring them back to life
with saliva, my natural moisturizer.

The smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the air
like a morning fog
unwilling to admit its time has passed,
that its presence is no longer appreciated.

There is no moon to light the grass
no stars to twinkle
and wink at me
in their knowing fashion.
Just a white and gray blanket
covering the sky above my head.

I slowly rise to my feet
teetering back and forth.
An instability caused by nicotine
in my blood for the first time today.
I slowly turn toward the broken door.

My feet numb from the frost on the planks;
the soft wood of my rustic cabin porch.