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Lemon Citron


by Darryl Price


Here it comes at long last. We just can't do it 
like that again. We don't have the same time. But 
something's wanting something more to be more than 
this. Here it comes again. But you bailed on me 
the last time around. Went silent as a cold 

lighthouse out of any kind of bulbs. Why were 
you so surprised then when I crashed? It wasn't 
intended. Certainly not to let the rocked 
ocean step on your sinking toes. Certainly 
not to let the stars get inside your flying, 
promising hair. Certainly never ever 

to forget your voice singing over the moon, 
streaking like its own comet. Who am I to 
deny the natural phenomena of 
your coming and going? But my life as I 
have said did hit a few rocks as I was stopped, 
 
staring into the shocking darkness of your 
felt presence. Here we go. Now you say you want 
to always remember my name. Now you want 
to email me a sweet letter like in the 
golden days. Oh windy stationary. You 
want to give me a lock of your light. As if 

I am only lost because I've forgotten 
the sound of you whispering your name into 
my restless sleep. A buried car radio. 
Like a flashlight in the grass. Here it comes down, 
down the path, rabbit and all. Looking for a 

satisfactory answer to up. Up we 
go! Up all night. Embraced against the cave wall, 
our hands smearing shadows into animals,
with spears in their hearts, in their heads, in their souls,
for something crying at the heavens, bolts of
lightning thrown against the earth for naked joy!  
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