Drifting

It wasn’t the peck on my left cheek
that brought tears to witness the wrong
you’ve done to my heart.
Rather, the loudness of your silence when my
heart yearned for your soothing words.

Your words became dry like a desert thirsty for
a drop of spittle.
To quench my heart’s thirst, you offered a peck
and forced my tears to this alter of judgment.
Now they flow gently down to my lips
searching for the warmth which your kisses
left there like an abandoned luggage, waiting for its owner.

What name do we now call those pictures we
took at Eagle Square when your friends were
shouting: “Love birds! Love birds!”
And you were smiling like a kid clutching a gift of candy?

Remember those two parrots you bought me for
Valentine? After you left home for your holiday which
turned to a sort of farewell, they both spent days talking nonstop.
What they were saying, I had no clue.
If you were here, I would have seen the meaning of their
words through your eyes as they glitter under the white
bulb in our room.
What next? Your absence killed them and the words
they said has become history, but stares in my face.

Today’s peck marks the beginning of our
love’s journey to a dark cave where kisses, fondling,
thrusts, soft moans are artifacts for aliens to feel and imagine.
Never again shall our truths and lies tango to the rhythm
Of cacophonies along boulevards of sweet smelling guavas.