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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.

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