Maybe we could patch the miles together
with my skipping bones and your curls,
woven across the plains.
Your letters blanket the desk,
a field of broken seals, broken hearts,
the miles of distance in a paper graveyard.
In the night, my sadness masked by the dark—
You’d leave like a nightmare.
I hope the doorstep tripped you,
pulled out your breath from behind you,
and left it under the mat.
You swept me away
and I’ll never forgive you for that.
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