Seven seeds spilled from my chest
like garnets. She ate each one, dainty
as a bird, juice staining her lips like
ambrosia. My pomegranate heart
cracked open in Persephone’s
finger-bones. I felt myself slip
into her core: a wet, earthy secret –
Eleusinian mystery, holiest of holies.
My wife feasted on me, picked me
clean of flesh, the fruit of asphodel.
I bound her with chains of love,
to the wintry underworld of my skin.
We cast stars to divine our fates,
crystal lattices in quartz caves.
All my bounty was hers –
all my ruby souls, the harvest
of Demeter’s daughter,
my Iron Queen – life of my
sword, rod of my wrath –
all my weapons at her feet.
Men say I am cold, but they
have not seen me helpless
at her breast, suckling at the
pollen of her marrow, feeding
her in turn. Consumed, I was
a sprout planted in her
darkness, licking her womb
with leaves of jade and spine,
thirsting after communion.
No rape, no abduction, just
two lovers like a vine,
curling up to eternity.


4 thoughts on “Pomegranate

  1. Plato and Persephone – one of my fav Greek legends and one of my fav pair of lovers. Everyone is always mentioning Eros and Psyche and no one pays much attention to this great love story. Wonderfully rendered. Well done!

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