Pomegranate

I am a pomegranate
delicate and intricately made
complicated, as everybody is
with countless countless seeds
I am flesh and juice
I am thick exotic skin
I am sensual and erotic
I am frightened
frightened of moving beyond my pomegranate-self
frightened of my pomegranate-thoughts
being untrue
frightened of all of you
frightened of searching beyond my realm
frightened of the darker blue where
the ocean gets deep
I tried to swim there once
and lost everything I had ever known
deep in the ocean I lost my band of gold
and shattered someone else’s dream
yet still I think my pomegranate-thoughts
and know that
I am the Last Great Lover
I am a feeder of souls
I am a paramour
I should have been the courtesan of a king
I am corseted and perfumed
I am the muse of ancient poets
alone, surrounded by friends
I search for my king
my counterpart in the game of love
he is out there somewhere
with honeyed words
and a sinful voice
and eyes that look only at me
I may have found him on a Thursday
as we made love in my opium den
sorting through the tunnels and seeds
to find that perfect bit of ripe fruit
and once we found it
he enjoyed it to the full
and didn’t just swallow it whole
yet even as we searched then loved then wept
I knew a secret sadness
that sweet secret sadness that only longing can bring.
I am afraid of the sunlight
I have always preferred the serene moon
to the unforgiving sun
I am afraid of the nakedness
afraid people will know me
afraid not to be able to lie
afraid of the utter lack of mystery
afraid I won’t be able to hide behind a pomegranate
naked and humiliated
I can never look my conquerors in the eye
my mind races my heart gallops
and that soul spot beneath my rib cage is always full to overflowing
as my body stands
quietly quivering
beneath every critical eye
yet I am empty
empty of great pain
of sorrows beyond imagination
of true anguish of true desperation
of true contentment
of true love
I had it once
it died
I mourned
I mourn
I move on
Because although I am empty
I am full
full of the beauty of my surroundings
full of the light in a new lover’s eye
full of the juice of countless pomegranates
I am full
and jaded
and desensitized
I have already stepped
over all the dead bodies in my path
and broken a heart beyond recompense
and torn my own heart out
and fed it to a hungry lion for dinner
nothing can touch me anymore
as I sit,
pomegranate in hand
reposing like a muse half in thought
and wait
and search
and devour
and get sick from my feast
and get sick from my hunger
and get sick from my fear
and get sick from my sadness
that sweet secret sadness that only longing can bring.

Pomegranate 76

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