The last time I flew back to Los Angeles
I remembered when you sat in front of me
on an airplane,
I spoke to you through
the split in the seats.
I told you this city
makes me want to fuck
‘cause I’m always inside my car
with the air conditioning off,
I thought you might call
when I landed,
the katydids in the east.
You don’t really want to know
about the sounds they make at night,
about how green they are
against the wood of a house in the country.
What you want is to stop missing me.