Last supper (poem)

There were some words 

unspoken between us; 

we left them on the table 

when you asked for the check.

I saw them, lying there. 

They begged to rise onto my tongue.

But I couldn't bear to have them 

come to rest atop my vile bile. 

I think you hesitated too, 

as the waiter cleared away the dishes. 

But perhaps you felt it was better

that we wipe the slate clean. 

We sloughed off those dead years 

We shed our last public tears. 

I knew grief would wrap around me 

later, like that muggy afternoon air.

The exhaust from your bike 

pumped smoke into my face. 

I inhaled gladly, my last fill

of our noxious past. 

Sometimes I wonder, what if

we had lingered, over that last meal? 

Would you have fondly fed me, 

once again with your delicious lies?