Ripe yellow mangoes.

The empty space between my fingers

Will always be the home for yours;

Like a birthmark, still your touch lingers,

A cure for all the longing I endure.

The curve of your smile mirrors ocean waves,

I wish you had reached my shore sooner;

To your memory my pen still slaves,

I wish that I had held you softer.

Would you have peeled ripe yellow mangoes for me?

I never asked your favourite fruit,

And that is the cruelest hell there can be—

To not have asked enough makes love feel moot.

Did you know your mouth writes sonnets

When you speak of purple and things you love?

Yet my words can’t travel like tectonics;

I wonder if you still taste them somehow.

I wish I’d kissed you the way the evening sun did,

Your dark brown eyes in October,

And no goodbye your silence could ever bid,

For things may end, but they’re never over.

-Caligo.