Let the leaves steep before you pluck them out
of the mug I never fixed from the first time we fought, about
I don't remember what, but I remember the way the warmth left my body
like I should have fled the house that night,
I remember it but those are different times.
Now, I fail at reiterating on emotions diffused into summer flights
anywhere but where I was staying, anywhere safe,
I landed not far away,
but hard enough to stay and that settlement will haunt my memories
until I can no longer,
still,
trace the patterns you made on my back,
with my own hands now.
Now, I cannot reiterate.
It might be worse than digging up a grave,
that closure that might have buried you under rubble,
and might have eliminated any chance at air,
so you sit on the floor and ask yourself how you let it happen,
again and again,
I cannot reiterate.
For it brings too much pain,
to remember how lightly you said my name,
and how heavy the blows were when you could not bear to say
anything,
anything is all I want to hear from you now,
but you're gone and I am still drinking tea,
gone bitter from the time gone by,
wondering how I let this happen, again.
I cannot reiterate the way that my soul fought for a shape,
after months of convincing myself I was useless,
like you swore.
I cannot reiterate the pain I felt when I loved you,
but I can promise.
I don't anymore.