The Lie

Today, you threaten to leave me. I hold curses, in my mouth, which could flood your path, sear bottomless chasms in your road. I keep, behind my lips, invectives capable of tearing the septum from your nostrils and the skin from your back. Tears, copious as a spring rain, are checked in ducts and screams are crowded in a corner of my throat. You are leaving? Aloud, I say: I'll help you pack, but it's getting late, I have to hurry or miss my date. When I return, I know you'll be gone. Do drop a line or telephone.