"You are twisted
and your tongue permanently tastes of cherries." -
you say,
but I just tie cherry knots
with my fruit-infused tongue,
and laugh at your complaints.
Red neon numbers remind me
of your lips on mine.
Gripping at the empty side of the bed,
wishing I were somehow still in your head.
You and I were similiar and collided
in coexisting lives.
I can see a jaw drop
the hand moving south
as if to slip into the knife drawer
of a total solar eclipse.
Six shots deep so I could forget your name,
and all of the reason I love you.
Instead I sat there
with him,
(not you)
crying over cherry stems.