Lack of Dawn

How we used to breathe starlight,
because I imagined there were no
clouds overhead: each cloud was
every exhalation of how this night
fails to end, how I keep dreaming
of a comet that would not fall
for me. Each dream counts the
number of breakfasts I’ve missed
and the number of swords I eat
during dinner; I counted ten
to completion, to end all wounds.
See: all I did was to feed myself
waiting for the sun to rise on set.

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