Promises&Pomegranates
If it hadn't been for the wetness that damaged my eyes today; we might not have met, those seeds would've remained all alone in their gloom. Each one dug its own little hole and crawled down my face, all the way to my womb - those pomegranate seeds you flung at me - What I'm afraid of, baby, might be the consistency of your tears. The more viscosity increases, the more you perish those pomegranates and figs rapidly. My fields recognize your feet and keep tracks of your each step. I know every red fruit you've plucked with your fingers, digging them in with such intensity. You take your primal bites with such passion that Adam envies you. In your eyes, amidst the passion that's blazing like a bud, lie goodbyes you never even knew could happen. I have only few satin - smooth poems and my rotten kidneys, but today you've made it painfully clear that I'm flowery enough for you to expect crimson pomegranates from me.
(Their branches holding a kingdom of broken promises)
I assume you distinguish a dense tear from a crimson pomegranate limb by limb, well I still can't. It remains a mystery at the very center of my chest how my still - crisp branches manage to hold onto their kingdom, riddled with faithless bites. Please don't poke the pomegranate inside me by now, I'm wearing a white nightgown.
24/06/2026
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