and when i told him just how beautiful he was tossing a pomegranate seed in the air and catching it gracefully between his rose-coloured lips it seems the pomegranate juice had temporarily stained his pale cheeks
iii. He reminds you that you may never be loved In the way that you are supposed to His heart opens as it should A halved pomegranate And the jewel flesh spills forward In effortless bounty
Yours was wrapped in butcher paper With care, long ago It lives in the freezer In the way, way back Ice crystals form slowly Until they resemble a silver blanket of moss
"Cavetown wrote a song about your ex and we played it all summer long" pt 3. This poem isn't about what you think it is, but I don't think that that matters so much. The feeling is the same at its core, even if the circumstances are not.
I pop a pomegranate seed. It bleeds, Delicate fuchsia delight, Mineral scented, warm, bright, Full of nectar and promise (now wasted)
I pop another one, In a soft cove on my arm- A slight dip between two veins - And watch the blushing drop Edge closer to my elbow. Stop.
A third time, With the fury of fear Tiptoeing listlessly in my mind, Like raindrops on a rooftop. It is sweet, and ******, A waste of time but an act of god Nonetheless.
I crave the sound and texture of it, So a fourth time comes around. By now, the citrus is overpowering But I keep going, For the sake of purity, For the sake of the shock of vibrance On deathly pale skin.
When my arm is covered in juice, I give up. There's no sense in envying the wasted.