By Steph

August watched as anxiety dripped in beads from my brow, tear soaked lashes and waking to damp skin, alternate realities and oceans swallowing me whole, prisms in water color at my feet, there were phantom fingers tracing the freckles on my shoulders to map out new constellations. 

I wished that they were yours but you were far away, out of sight for sore eyes, bathing in symmetrical sorrows, bridges crumbling between us until we broke down at the close and loved each other again, building matchstick houses for our dreams while waiting for burnt amber leaves to fall into September and carry us with the breeze.

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