To the People I Miss

You are lemon juice on my wound
I want to tell you I miss you
so I climb a mountain of forbidden fruit
You are the cherry on top
at the height of my pride
but love brought you low, shoved you over,
and my resolve is following,
self-control slipping
thanks to the memories rolling
like film, rolling all the way down
to the end—and back again
An endless looping cycle
All because my love was a shabby bicycle
trying to keep pace with your airplane in vain
Left behind, I might as well walk
but memories of you are lemon juice
on this aching wound
So now I’m staggering, teetering
on the mountain’s edge,
finger hesitating on “Send”