It's taken me three years to grow.

It will take me three years to grow more.

I look to both with despair

and dried, thorny branches.

Save me.



Coat me in chocolate and sell me for a price

unlike most products,

Sell me to my soul so that she may taste

What I've become

(Or what I will be,

I do not know which.)



And let her know that the juice of this bruise-purple thing

was hatched from the eggs of

Hot

Blood,

burning as limes do.

Tell my soul to ready her buds for a special meeting.



Teach her to chew fire just so

when the two of us collide, soul and berry,

she won't burn to death

Starting at the gums. Ending with the heart.



We'll meet, finally, in three years long as a field,

at a warehouse store.

We'll come together on the way home.