Sunday, November 8, 2009

blossom rot

have a pomegranate, she said.
i don't know how to eat them. 
that's alright. i'll teach you. 
intertwining my fingers in hers, she motioned them to take a piece
making her body mine hers mine ours.
she brought it to my lips    ordered me to smell the sharp bitterness
told me there was not a more intimate act of love than
the shock we'd feel once my tongue made contact with the fruit
in my throat nose eyes and
like electricity coursing through veins for a split second
before soft numbness crept in. 
one two three taste  the  shock  can  you  feel  it?
i felt a shelf of books tumbling over me
instead of electricity
and tasted sawdust instead of love. 
i think it's rotten, i said. 
yeah, i know. 
i couldn't find another way to tell you
i'm leaving.

written November 8, 2009

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