Poetry

Countdown, 7 (360.)

Time to unwrap
a bundle of wild west dollars
and use them to buy
a satisfied sigh
while I send shots in the dark
and cross my fingers
to will them the right way.
If I don’t miss my mark,
I’ll be on the road again,
through tangled woods
and rose-kissed briars,
hoping to draw a map
from here to your heart.

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