Kneeling beneath this tree you confess her silence will swallow you whole. your spirit sister start light. she, who clawed herself crimson like the crowned fruit in your hand. her pretty mouth, a gaping abyss.

You score the pomegranate’s skin with your nails, and tell me in a world of shadows she danced in circles. her joy, a ravaging. you tell me this and more. like the time you held her head above water, gently, as she scratched your face raw.

I miss her, you say, picking up the torn fruit in your hand, tasting the sourness of the seeds under your teeth.

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