I made a wish on the time-stamp,
11:11—the back of my throat.
Kept the
key at the window.
Gave infinite guesses you'd pick
at my skeletons
most. Rusty
nails on the driveway
and horoscope freeways,
to drift off the night to goodbyes.
I sleep in the sunlight, a beam
through the
curtains—on yellow
and red specks of dust.
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