It sticks in your throat.
A lump too big
to be chewed down.
No spit mustered
for this unpalatable gulp.
I see it occasionally,
flitting through your head.
Banging at the back of your eyes
when you think of what you did.
You got close once,
began a short hiss.
Snake like,
sharp in its nipped-off syllable.
Then the word died.
Couldn’t be forced
from the airless cavern
of your mouth
into the atmosphere that hovered,
like a glass wall.
Impenetrable from your side,
open from mine.
You never tried again.
Never wanted the forgiveness
I would have wrapped you in.
If only you had said ‘sorry’.
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