You Tell

By Vasvi Kejriwal

You tell me that

the last quabble we had before the break up

felt like words put inside your mouth

like a French kiss –

poisonous and unexpected.

But then you correct yourself, say that

my words flew down your throat

effortlessly like smoke.

And that back then,

you wish you’d known

you were swallowing vultures.

You take your time to explain

how they took their time,

huddled around your larynx

and built a little fire,

how the ashes they left behind

still clog up your throat.

With all honesty, that day 

I could see fireballs roll off my tongue,

 magnificently lit, fierce, and

robustly round. I heard

my mouth catapult them at you.

But, even today my throat

remains bare and vulnerable 

like a soft, skinned avocado;

all my zealous ardour

lies scattered, 

dead embers.