I’d fall asleep under your window, waking whenever you’d sleep, serenading your silhouette with love songs hummed under my breath.
I spent hours in your driveway, using telepathy and tears to send you ESP telegrams, arriving blank and unsigned.
I’d steal the letters that your boyfriend sent, replacing them with bouquets of your favorite flowers and encrypted communiques.
I’d sleep with horseshoes and horoscopes, like guns, tucked under my head, counting on meteors and MC squared to reconfigure our stars.