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Driving, 4 a.m. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

In the dark, with your hand
on the wheel,
bottle empty,

I could rest my head in the shade
of your neck. I could lace
your fingers with chipped nails
and forget

light bleeds over trees.
I could pretend your arms
don't unnerve me
the way they do,
and I don't mind the nicotine
when we inhale.

We're flying, sugar,
at cyanide dawn,
and won't stop till the crash
smothers sense.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.





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