Your shadow
stretches
along the waves of
Egyptian cotton,
your scent
woven
in the silky fabric,
blended into
the smooth grey.
Your heat
pools
in the bowl-shaped depression
where your head
has been,
next to mine,
two craters of
already dull
meteors.
«À tout jamais…»
your whispered pledge
still
limps
through the air,
empty like
mirages
in the incandescence of the desert,
deafening
in the silence around,
mocking me.
Born in Romania and currently living in Canada, Cristina Iuliana Burlacu is an office worker, a wife and the proud mother of a six year old bundle of joy. From time to time, she writes. Her work has appeared in the Rusty Nail magazine, the Vine Leaves Literary Journal, the Vine Leaves Best of 2015 Anthology, on the Every Day Fiction, Wordhaus and Expresso literary sites.
SICK LIT MAGAZINE 