Sin
You taste like sin
But smell like summer:
Heat waves on the pavement,
Downy detergent and cotton t-shirts,
Red popsicles,
Lemonade and decades-old melodies,
Hot rain in the middle of a pool party;
Our bathing suits are already soaked,
Yet we run for cover nonetheless.
Invite me in,
Let me dry you off
And wring you out.
I’ll be your midday nap
And midnight snack.
You taste like sin
But look like a saint.
Copyright © Carissa Marie | Year Posted 2018
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