Sour Cherry
a poem in response to this prompt by Tamyka for Chalkboard
Her viewfinder
found the words “I do”
through a golden circle of trust.
Engraved them inside
borrowed and blue lining, tucked them
within a kiss
until
she drew breath,
delivering him
an unworthy title. A dark, nameless scene
coated her hand in thickened chalk,
seeking parchment.
Unable
to be written
or washed away,
words collect
on her lips, soured cherries
tarnish the ring, spoiling the view.
She spits out two pits.
