Poetry

Poem #4

My name is a souvenir for your stories

Tales about how hiking is not really your sport but you climbed the mountain and moved what felt like boulders to get to the summit

You forget that I was there when your lips would quiver like the roof of a shanty whenever you would look into my eyes from below

I remember days when it seemed my tears get paid for migrating my emotions from my heart to my mouth

Days when you would prod and press, kneading at my flaws as if my anger would solidify into gold once it left my tongue

Still you would not leave even though you were already halfway

This cruel limbo, always wanting to break for me even though we knew the cake was never yours to eat or keep

We both have no business lingering and yet I can still smell your breath as it gently disappears over cantaloupe that only few have ever seen

Skin pale as the full moon feels like high priced leather as it moves against mine

Your finger tips generously explore what I assume you no longer adore but I look to see an estranged emotion forming on your face

Without saying a word, we both agree it will have to wait until the end of the encore

I watch as the drop of water traces the length of the empty glass

I suppose I would not have to answer your question if I were busy swallowing

But I do not have the luxury of such a crafty stall

Nor would a hole form in the ground to sabotage your eyes as they dart in search all over my face

And so we sit in pregnant silence as my mind tries to find letters to accompany the no that would eventually leave my lips in response to “do you love me”