Cupid

By Alexia Mychal Ross

I have mid-day dreams of kissing you.
But there is no you to kiss.
In my mind is an amalgamation of lovers I never even got the chance to miss.
They don’t exist.
You don’t exist.
In the midst of my shower I imagine the waking hour when something clicks in my body and I am brought down from the clouds.


Alexia writes, she says, “to truly transport and communicate.”

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