Mixed Message

I understood everything 

his footsteps were saying.

His hand touching the knob

smelled so familiar to me --

that unmistakable scent 

of his wrist's deliberate twist.

I couldn't bear the sight 

of his decision, 

eventually tearing my gaze

from the weight of his departure.

But it was the taste of what 

he didn't say that would 

linger on the tip

of my tongue, teasing me

before getting stuck

in the back of my throat, 

where everything 

he never promised me 

was lodged.