scagway

--at night
warm rustling leaves under the porch
where our hanging seat creaks on its chains
and our cider steams up

--in the moonlights
candle glows across the street and children out
too late and mothers calling two blocks down
we smile and sip, shoulders together

--with the spooks and spectres
charmed by the season of harvests and feast
your arm around my shoulder as I shiver
leaning in, your lips curl