soundoflaughingwind

I was hungry,

so I strode through her garden,

plucked a pomegranate from the tree

and ate.

I picked out every kernel

swallowed every seed

stained my fingers and my lips with sticky red

bared my teeth and called it a smile.

Death entered the garden, and found me

dyed red, reaching up to take a second.

“What have you done?”

She hesitated, eyes wide

but I smiled up at her, bloody,

“I made my choice.”

And I broke that pomegranate open,

pulled her down to the smooth black stone

that matched her skin so well

and fed her the arils one by one.

And when I kissed the juice from her lips

it was sharp and sweet

and so was she.

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