The Lights
- Guest Writer
- Jul 15, 2024
- 1 min read
Jackson McCarthy (he/him)
Sitting by the water reminds me of you.
The lights, this morning, everybody
who loves to be alive. I think it’s only now
I love and miss you, your blonde sexuality,
the way you shaved or didn’t. I even miss
the dream I had, again and again,
the one where I left you,
and how I left you each night I dreamt it.
There’s a place in sleep where the lights
sign your name in gold —
I can feel your feet under the table,
nudging me back to myself.
