Melagrana

there is a certain blessing
to forgetfulness, the way it can,
like those paper presses,
confess a years worth of flowers
into bookcases, notes and
translucent kisses.
I uncap the ink and let
it write its runes
across my winter skin, see -
it's summer still but I can smell
the change come before
there's a plucking on
the harp-strings of Demeter's
granary wind;
I would have gone too, if you were
Hades mounted into spring meadows
from the chasm of your broken
kingdom, the sea of the lost
and broken souls, to be mended
like darning wool, like the rip
in the stockings, the grass
stains on both my knees, and you
with your dark drawn chariot,
I would have eaten all of the
pomegranate, sucked the
crimson marrow across my teeth,
feeling the crush and the rush
of bitter and sweet
under the weight of incisors,
indecisions bitten into like
the seed, grown into
myself finally ready, opening
because the darkness in you
makes my light shine brighter,
the collisions of flint and matter,
it always takes time to tend the
fire, if it's proper, if it blazes
in just the right arc to that
mountain door. A giant cat
with lapis for eyes and the knocker
in its mouth. Do not enter
this underworld blindly; it takes
wishes, takes
treasures also and so
if you will not partake
the feast of skin and tangled words,
keep on walking up and lay
your offering into other temples
but do not say a word to him;
let the Ol' Lightning thrower wonder
what the ruckus is.

Reviews

[Orlando Murcia]

What a brilliant piece of art
Your words were really deep
and well written, I really enjoyed
this masterpiece

Amazing job!!

Orlando M