Pomegranate

I take the pomegranate. 

Carve out its insides.

Strip it of its skin. 

Ever so gently,

I break it.

I take the seeds,

sweet with ripeness.

I feast.

My fingers become red.

My mouth becomes dry.

It cracks, it bends, it splits, it tears.

There is nothing left.

And for a moment,

I think I know what Hades felt

when he stole Persephone

As he ravaged, as he took.

Because what is love,

If not consumption?