I plucked the petal stuck to your cheek where I kissed you. Count one, two, three, you love me. My snow cone melts beside me on the bench, blue spots spreading through wax paper. We pressed our foreheads to the metal railings and counted the city windows blinking like Christmas lights. Our silhouettes are dark and shaky in the harbor below and the petal goes floating above our watery heads. Count one, two, three, you love me not. You will not call for three days.
…
If I could sing, I’d go on stage wearing a blue dress and high heels. The heels are too high, so I’d step out of them and place them by the stage lights. And I’d sing and wave and say hello! Hello! Can you hear me?
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