Cherry’s tree

Cherry’s gapped grin, familiarly sweet and sinister, hangs over me when I sleep like a constellation poxing the sky. There is a force of nature in the early morning that allows dew to cling to the grass, like maybe how I used to cling to Cherry’s laughter. Cherry and me are built the same (strong arms and shaky knees) but now Cherry’s only rotting fruit and I’m his resilient seed.