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"With apologies, from Furnace Creek" by Kirsti MacKenzie

Could you forgive me if I told you the air was warm as my skin, that there is no sound in the desert but your own shaking breath, that the mountains slouch like lurid black beasts against the night sky, that I had enough tequila to make my heart raucous, that I found myself on the roof under galaxies spread gossamer and glittering, that I traced your laugh lines from Castor and Pollux, that I curled my toes at the edge of the world and honoured a promise to a past self

Could you forgive me

If I thought of you

And hit send

Kirsti MacKenzie has published in Maudlin House, Autofocus, and Rejection Letters. She lives in Ottawa and can be found perpetually on her bullshit @KeersteeMack.

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