Front Page


In by Lucía on August 21, 2010 at 12:26 am

We spent one summer together,
his tattooed forearms, the meteors, and my makeup on his pillowcase.

It all culminated in these two CDs,
the one that you put in my hands at the airport and the one that I sent across the country, covered in duct tape.

I still listen to it every so often,
when the day lends itself to reliving the season.

I still talk to your answering machine:
you still hate the phone.

I miss you like hell,
but you swore you’d never come back,
and you looked me in the eye,
and you called me Arizona.


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