Cherry Stem

What it was, was air tied. What it was, was a fatal, figmented fiber that twisted from out of nothing. Other than a stone cold catalyst. One deceivingly delicate. And on the verge  
 
             Of beautiful    
   
On the verge of her lips, her tongue poking between syllables the staccato of foreign music. The staccato of a dance he’d seen in an exotic movie. With cocktails and pastel umbrellas. There were lively birds in the background    
 
             Her lips    
   
An aroma of cherries lifted, twisted and turned and lifted. Twisted into a dream, and then again a torment. An absolute red handed recognition. The fiber began and was    
           In knots    
 
He said, then cried out loud. “These shadows! These shadows have risen and spread.” At once delicious and miserable. The taste of cherries, her lips that danced. And then a tragic quick, slick  
 
          Miserable fade