Seven Letters Uncurled

The papayas rot in bunches
falling soft and yellow
they split, releasing bitter seeds
and my heart breaks and I can’t tell you-
I can´t tell you that nothing´s sweet
just overripe, and at my feet
I see the fruit of all my dreams,
out in the sun, torn at the seams.

Afternoon rainstorms are inevitable-
they come and leave, with lightning streaks,
and still, I just can´t find release
when I pour the contents of my cloudy chest
onto these blank pages.
These words are just shoes without laces,
endlessly empty and out of step,
echoes in rooms that feel cold since you left.

I say your name to myself
and it crawls back inside my chest,

closes my throat and all I have left
is a shell of you, a lonely line,
seven letters uncurled,
the sound they spelled, my love, my girl,
the face they described was my world.