LIBRAERIE MAG: issue three

heat Like cherry pits rotting under the sun Your perfume still lingers in the humid air of march No breeze, for the world has stood still A lazy summer afternoon passing before its time My finger tips caress my dampened cheeks, sticky Tongue tainted with the glossy red of the fruit Yet teeth patterned deep velvet with my blood As my lips carve under my bite marks Marble on wood It is only me and nothing else For the city has lost its buzz since you left Poetry caught in my throat Suddenly unfamiliar to the ink of worn pens And as my smile aches for the kiss of another girl I take the love you have taught me and taste it in ripe plums And with the loss i learn to move on Swallow the cherries and Throw out the pits onto the soil Just as their stench becomes too strong For perhaps they may blossom Around this time next march —a lesson on love, loss, and summer fruit, by amanda