Liquid lines around the shore;
Wet touch.
A stranger until we’re in danger.
Light dances across the water –
following a plane.
Seven lights blink, not in sync, broken across the bay.
The smell of tobacco stains the air.
Breathing-in and out-heart unmatched; rhythm.
Toe tapping.
Gravel scraping.
A headlight shines through the musk of night.
Laughter cranes the atmosphere, just hanging, hoping.
Hands throw gestures in the sky.
What am I missing?
A passenger seat glance.
An eight-ball’s chance.
Wet touch.
M.
Color of outdoors blog 
Say anything.