If My Fingertips Could Touch the Sky by Keana Águila Labra

With lazy grays at both threes,
we rise with the pm and stretch
the light past the am back into the
dark.

This is how we were made,
from fireworks and tender
kisses underneath a faded
lampshade,

we burn with the
changing summer.

1 thought on “If My Fingertips Could Touch the Sky by Keana Águila Labra”

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