Just Yesterday

Just yesterday was the first time I heard you speak poetically.

On our coffee table conversations, you spilled words everywhere.

Your mouth like a loaded a gun triggered sonnets right into my heart.

Your tongue was restless. 

So I let you borrow mine.

I carried a fist full of metaphors and all I wanted was to heave them at your face.

The words slowly melting on your lips. 

You could taste my love between those consonants.

Just yesterday you gathered stars.

Replaced my tears with something that'd shine brighter in the dark.

You cursed ocean to be more quieter when I called your name.

I believed in every organ of your body so I didn't dig a heart out of your chest to see where it belonged.

Rather I poured you in as a poem than just a pain.

Just yesterday was the last time I thought I was a living precedent of what's dead inside.

But you walked out of your own funeral. Laughing.

I almost believed that I'd never die again.

I was a person who knew what to say every time I spoke a language.

But when your touch was folded into a love note and slithered into my scars,

I was speechless.

It was until yesterday you told me you've forgotten my name.

I watched bottled up words falling out of your mouth.

I held your hands while you cried.

Maybe I could have shouted sentences till it became a single word.

I should have known people grow hungry when they are distant.

The things I should be hearing never touched your tongue.

I should have asked you questions till it broke you into a ghost or a thief.

Instead, I let you cry.