Dear Lemon Engine II

If I only had five pairs of socks, all the same color. If I drank a gallon of water and went on a walk every day. If I got rid of everything that didn’t make me gush with giddy. If I became an herbivore. If I only had to work three hours a day. If I cried more and thought less. If I could just talk to you every time I want to sort things out. This would be a telephone wire and we would be birds, the most hilarious birds.

We would send shudders of laughter all the way to Maine. You haven’t spoken to me in days. A dozen girls dressed in black are at my house to shoot a music video. The fire ants are in my room. I can’t even go home. I didn’t know it would go like this. Remember that one night? Tangled on the living room floor in front of the window?

The sky was a disco. You took me on a scavenger hunt for your crazy. I found nothing but peach pits and crushed eggshells, the kinds of things that bloom into the brightest yellow. If you played me a song for every mistake you ever made, I would never stop turning the tape over.

Our ex-lovers are a supper bowl of dandelion heads and redbud flowers. We found them in the wild. Loved them hard. Let them go. We always let them go. We just have too much lightning crammed into our hearts. Just want someone to put her ear to our chest and tell us how far away the storm is.

Holy Mother of Blisters, I miss you.