I'm sorry--for that one time,
when I said that one thing,
at that one place.
On your lips I can see the
quiet start to manifest, as you ask a single
"Why?" that breaches the silence
in a soft-spoken choke.
The words move astray in the air,
I can see your breath exiting paper bag lungs.
I can see it melt
into the thin air.
I can see all the words,
that got stuck in-between your teeth.
I can see you,
swallowing them back down.
Your lips are a dock,
sinking into a frown;
one that your words will bound off of
only to drown in the air.
You're a landlord of your words,
as I am of of mine,
but you seem to be able to keep yours
hiding in the craters and crevices of your teeth.
Mine are always finding their way through,
by way of narrow passages and
Your name and the words, "I'm breaking up with you."
are the only ones that reside
on the back of my tongue.
I don't know how it happened.
In my stomach,
I can feel the chemicals breaking down,
words decomposing like melting ice or
I don't know about you,
but I always liked my words better,
when drenched in tomato sauce.