Cherie Mort

Silver Star - 3,454 Points [Chérie Mort, Chevrolet Evelyn Gallagher, Magdalyn Hunt, Victoire de Valois]

Cherie Mort Poems

41. The Midnight Scent Of Vanilla And Jasmine 4/11/2016
42. Addis I 4/15/2016
43. Addis I I 4/17/2016
44. I Dreamt Of Us Last Night 4/20/2016
45. When The Sun Begins To Set 4/21/2016
46. When The Sun Begins To Rise 4/21/2016
47. Mr. B- And Me (Cracks In The Ceiling) 4/24/2016
48. Spices And Honey 4/25/2016
49. Smoke 5/5/2016
50. London Ghost 5/26/2016
51. Coconut Lemon Cake 5/26/2016
52. Berukoka (Apricots) 6/2/2016
53. Weaver's Woe 6/10/2016
54. You And Me 6/10/2016
55. Ink 6/13/2016
56. So Short 6/20/2016
57. Blade 6/20/2016
58. Just Like Me 6/20/2016
59. Eyes Of Ice, Eyes Of Fire 7/24/2016
60. Enflamed 7/24/2016
61. Lions In August 8/3/2016
62. Cherry Lips 8/3/2016
63. Resemblance 8/12/2016
64. Melancholy 8/14/2016
65. Wisteria 8/16/2016
66. Edgar's Wife 8/30/2016
67. Bleu Yeux 9/2/2016
68. Makes Me Blue 9/2/2016
69. Haywire 9/8/2016
70. His One True Love 9/8/2016
71. When Rome Burns 10/15/2016
72. Stunned 11/12/2016
73. My Handsome Hero Soldier 11/12/2016
74. Beware The Board 12/12/2016
75. Womanhood 1/8/2017
76. Greece 1/15/2017
77. He Holds My Body 1/17/2017
78. Going To College Is Like Getting Married 2/6/2017
79. Rue Glacee 2/9/2017
80. She Threatened To Leave 3/9/2017

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Best Poem of Cherie Mort

Lemons

I like to smell the sweet scent of lemon juice as I slice thin circles of citrus onto my cutting board, the rind making a soft sssh
sound as my knife separates its layers.

I pick up a round slice of lemon and pop it in my mouth. The taste is so sour that my mouth puckers, making the rest of my face contort as it follows suit. For a moment my face is frozen in a sour expression, slowly decompressing from its painful prison.

The tangy taste of lemon zest still numbs my mouth as I squeeze more lemons and pour the juice into a container half-full of ice. Citrus-scented oil ...

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Tangerines

What is it about a tangerine that puts me in a happy mood?
Its orange glowing peel reveals the fruit I want to eat.
Sometimes I toss the tart orb into the sky and pretend it is the sun, shining bright, warm rays onto me.
Other times I roll it back and forth on a desk, feeling its pockmarked flesh against the palm of my hand.
Whenever I sniff the scent of such a small treasure I am transported in my mind to a warmer climate, where the wind whispers foreign tales in your ears and tells you wh

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