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?