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
fingertips
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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