i miss those days just yesterday when I would pile my hair
those days when i would stuff wet wild petals into my jacket,
listen to experts explain survival, take photos of the gen z graffiti
the beach house was an autonomous zone, the playground a crumbling
dynasty. the man played drum on the dock to the ghosts in the taped off
bathroom behind him. i miss my arms in the generous light learning to move,
the melted candles in my backpack, the bed sheet covered in horses,
the tarot full of grass and sand, the jars of diluted experiment that i’d
wrap so gently in a sweatshirt hood before setting out into the known
unknown to float above the roots and worms
below the city moon.
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