Poetry · Writing

sitting on a borrowed porch

on a porch

not my porch, a quiet family owns this porch

they go away on the weekends

i like to imagine they have a country house so their kids can play-

i feel apart of it when i sit here

the tire swing

star-gazing past our bedtime

never going to sleep cold,

on the porch

i go to sleep tucked in with a kiss on the cheek

but like a dream it’ll end

in the morning they’ll return

and i’ll be gone

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