by Linnea Lieth
Artwork by Liz Chiu
August 7th
By the sixth time, I could predict
the number of weeks (5)
it would take for you to text me those three words:
I miss you.
In the early evening,
as the humidity bonded our bare-chestedness,
I said, I missed you too.
Just this once, you said,
We can’t keep doing this.
And I started counting again.
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