Yesterday I sat on your porch,
and drew pink chalk hearts around
your doormat. You asked me if I
wanted sweet tea and I said yes,
though all I really wanted was your
lips against my ear. Whispering how
much you missed the smell of
my perfume on your pillow.
And sometimes I take snapshot of my
face when I cry. I mail them to you
in a grey envelope and on the back of every
one I write down confessions about
what animals I'd run over in the
road that day, and how they all made
the same loud thump under my wheels,
no matter how hard I pushed on the gas
pedal, or how much I turned up the stereo.
Occasionally you bring the pictures
back to me, telling me everything you
know about radio waves, road ****, and how
they relate to the tread on my tires. You tell
me things I won't ever need to know, but
will never be able to forget no matter
how many times I try to burn the memories
of you from my frontal lobe.
I guess that's another reason why I love you.
Because no one's ever told me how
they make the colors in my favorite
fourth of July fireworks.
Seriously though, I am so blank when it comes to a title.
EDITED!