Night Taste

You stand barefoot, your hand hovering over your eyes

you stare into the sherbert sunset

while the last whisper of a day cries.

Dust whips around your blonde hair

Alone in a dirt driveway

staring over the treeline.

The yellow begins to turn inky blue

like someone burst their ballpoint pen

And there's calls of owls in the distance

A smirk plays on your lips

as you smile at God's show.

The summer night breathes steadily.

The same way your chest will rise and fall

Your chipped fingernails play nervously

with your leather bracelet.

"It tastes good." you say.

"What?"

"The night."

Far away, you watch the single strand

fade - of faint red light.