When we sleep
I imagine our bodies lifted up
out of our beds
into the night sky, barley beyond
rented roofs and chimney tops.
I imagine the wind pushing us
closer together.
I imagine how I could sleep next to you.
How I’d fit in the sky.
But it is only somewhat romantic
that even though you are only two states away
we can go to bed at the same hour. And I
have always hated your cold feet.
-sonja lynn mata
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