by Anthony Aguero
Night breezes seem to whisper, “I love you”
There is a soft kiss that is easily mistaken for
a whisper and the night dragging along like a
body in the middle of some desert I no
longer belong to. Dream a little dream of me
I no longer belong to. I shut my eyes and sharp
blades of grass creasing up the entirety of
my back you would’ve thought it a ghost
coming back for restitution. While I’m alone
and blue as can be. I want to believe the blood
is warmer on the outside of the body then in-
side of me, taking up space. Stars fading, but I
linger on, dear. The ghosts are at the door at
this point, so let’s allow them in now. The blood
should be dry now, and I am tired of
hearing myself cry. Sweet dreams that leave all
worries behind you. Breath trickles down to foot-
steps alone in the desert. A man barely
allows me to escape. The safety of a night breeze.
Stars fading, but I linger on, dear.
My mouth was shaping the word “no”,
but I kept the white t-shirt for the longest time.
Anthony Aguero is a queer writer in Los Angeles, CA. He is currently studying Creative Writing and Literature at Antioch University Online. His work has appeared, or will appear, in the Bangalore Review, 2River View, The Acentos Review, The Temz Review, Rhino Poetry, Cathexis Northwest Press, 14 Poems, North of Oxford, and others.