#longsentence

My fingers are stained purple, an irish berry farmer who rolls tobacco among the rasberries blackberries that feel soft and hairy in her mouth in july, but mine are pomegranates, pomegranate kernels, kissing my fingertips as you watch me break it open into pieces, the kernels falling and swimming among my lap and palms and i think about your blood and how it is most probably the same color, or how i hope it is, and how i may not ever see it, and then i will never know if you are real and flesh and my flesh is real and is yours.  

  We two sit legs crossed at this wooden table for six, im hunched, my stegasaurus spine echoing under my pale grey shirt and it is silent, so silent, i hope i can hear your heart beat and so silent, i can hear the snapping of the pomegranate kernels losing their home and joining mine but I dont worry about you anymore as you sit to my right, because it is already dark outside and i dont want to say anything but feel you, and when we will go upstairs, my fingers bloodstained, i pray you'll say i love how your clothing comes off, and you wont, youll lay and smile because you know exactly how i slip my hands underneath my shirt to expose me and it is no surprise at all and it is not an adventure tonight, especially tonight, the saturday of the visit where you broke me in half (and not sultry), because you stayed an extra night with me, because you send thank-yous to the night sky that i did not leave you there cold and on the december grass far from home, thank-yous for me and my spine and how you know the way my hands will reach for your neck tonight, despite how my heart is completely boiled and luke warm, grey like rabbit meat under my second skin shirt i wore to calm my fever and to show you the skin you almost lost.

  The pomegranate is in pieces now kernels all over the table and me and i stand to get two bowls from the kitchen on my right, and you dont hesitate to stay seated and let me move and i bring the two bowls from the highest cabinet down and i almost cried while you sat there alone at the wooden table for six but we were almost passed that now, so i fill the bowls with rubies as i gently tap the backs of the pomegranate pieces and the kernels filling the bowl is the most beautiful thing ive ever seen and i want to tell you but it would give you too much relief to know i can see beautiful already again so i keep my lips pressed and i cry into the bowl as you watch me burp these pomegranate pieces like little fruit babies, and you see the tears and the kernels mix and you keep your lips pressed because for once you understood this wasnt me but you and it isn't my problem but yours but i didnt mind that you put your hand on my leg because i will always be a sucker for your hand on my leg.

  The bowls are filled and i am no longer filled with tears so i say how lovely it would be to eat these kernels on the porch under blankets, and i catch myself hating myself for being so naturally romantic when all i should really have wanted to do with you is hurt you, but the words escape and your smile is so big, like you think it might be over so i go along and you gather the blankets and i gather the bowls and two soup spoons and you sit in the farthest chair to the right and me to the left, and as i place the bowl in your lap when you are good and comfortable you speak the excitement of a true feast of pomegranates and i havent once thought about the taste, and im still not thinking as i sit and spread the blanket over my lap and the bowl between my legs, how comforting i wanted to think, that anything but you was between my legs but i didnt think it, and i filled the soup spoon with rubies and when they hit my teeth and i broke them and their juice hit my tongue it gave me a heartache and i wanted to kiss you hard and right but the relief it would bring you was too big of a role for me to play, and you want to kiss me hard and right but you don't and that is too big a thing for me to carry so i sit there silent with my mouth full.

       I take my last spoonful with a deep breath and my eyes are wide but i dont let you see them because i do not feel truly whole yet.  

  Your body leaves but i dont let you go because i believe you and i root for you still and as i sit like stone on a couch in a house i dont own and you are miles away, truly i own nothing, and when you put your fingers to a new purpose and to the numbers to hear my voice, your breath is sweet through the phone and stained with sorrys and i dont hate you so with your breath in my ear i stand to make an x with shaky hands on the wall to mark when you are here again and it doesnt lie when it says we are equal in love.