Summers only get hotter
Don’t they?
Spitting cherry pits
On the train tracks
That separate chosewood
From Lakewood
Cherry wood
I like the stain left on
My fingers
My lips
Runny bliss
Sampling the simplicity
Of hot
& sticky
& condensed
Forms of self
Nice girls
Get the chance
To be hurt again
And again
Right?
Do bruised fruits taste less sweet?
Not really sure
Just spitting cherry pits
Onto train tracks