It's two AM and I'm standing at your door
Like torn ripped up paper doll of a girl
Whose crayons all melted
Into a confetti colored puddle
But you won't let me in
Because you're so tired of having to
Connect all my dots
Just to see some kind of outline
Of some girl that I may be some day
Far, far away
And even though you keep me
Locked out on the unlit street
When it's all over I still
Miss you like childhood
Like trees in a back yard
Like red painted swing sets
Like sugary birthday cake

Once we sat down
On the bench by the ocean
We talked about houses
And how we would build one
The room we would have
With nothing but blue walls
And clouds painted on them
So we could make love in the sky
And when it is clear outside I still
Miss you like artistry
Like subtitled movies
Like coffee shop anxiousness
Like museum installations

You were the one who taught me
How to feel unloved and ugly
How to stare at the ceiling
When you rolled away from me
How to cry without noise
How to shake without movement
How to go without eating
And sleep without resting
And even though I have branded you
On the stretched flesh of my thighs
On the nape of my neck
On the palms of my hands
Whenever I catch sight of the marks I still
Miss you like a kitchen
Like the smell of food cooking
Like a warm heated oven
Like an organized cupboard

I asked you if we should
Go home for the holidays
And you said that home was
Where we were right then
With blankets on the bed
And shoes by the door
And all of our broken gadgets
Stashed in a basement drawer
But I bought a plane ticket anyway
Boarded it and sped away
Called you every night that I was gone
Felt closer from there than I was in your arms
Knew that when I got back
The blanket and shoes and gadgets and you
Would be gone
And when I find things
That you have forgotten I still
Miss you like radio
Like a top forty countdown
Like a mix tape from high school
Like a local commercial

I took off my clothes
Lay down on the bed
And let you spend hours
With your paintbrush on my skin
After you were done
My legs were a garden
Of lilies and orchids
My arms were a skyscape
Of your own constellations
And beautiful horses
Ran over my stomach
We made love slowly and carefully
So nothing would blur
And when I see my skin is washed clean I still
Miss you like glamour
Like rich dark red lipstick
Like tight sequined gowns
Like waiters with champagne

At the stoplight I open the door
And jump out of the car
Turn just fast enough to see
The look that says this time you really
Cannot do this any more
But I know that when
I get out of the cab
Call you from the intercom
Swear I am going to sit on your steps until
You let me in
Even if I have to sit for days
Like Gandhi or that woman who lived in a tree
By that time, you will already have
Come up behind me and put your arms
Around me
You will whisper in my ear that
You cannot keep stitching me up
If all I'm going to do
Is always hide scissors in my purse
And I will lie and tell you I can fix this
Later when I am alone at a stoplight I still
Miss you like silence
Like blindness
Like deafness
Like stillness

You think that I am asleep
In the passenger seat of the car
And you reach over and push
My hair away
From my face
You rearrange my arm and neck
So that I will not be sore
When I wake up
You do all of this while driving with one hand
And telling me to dream pretty things pretty girl
And when I fall asleep a bucket seat I still
Miss you like Friday night
Like watery beer
Like popcorn and peanuts
Like sports on tv

You leave me a note on the dining room table
It says please not to call you
Please to forget you
That you can't continue to feel
The things that you feel
But you can't say no
When I tell you I want you
You have left flowers by the note.
You have left flowers in my heart.
You have left flowers in my dreams
You have left flowers in under the soles of my feet.
You have left flowers in my throat.
And when I open the door to that apartment I still
Miss you like New York
Like motion and noise
Like accents and horns
Like skylines and doormen

Once we sat down
On the bench by the ocean
We talked about houses
And how we would build one
The room we would have
With nothing but white walls
And angels painted on them
So we could make love in heaven
And when the church is quiet I still
Miss you like America
Like long blacktop highways
Like families in houses
Like newly made monuments