Persephone Thinks of Athena

Photo by soaad aboudi on Unsplash

I stand in the kitchen

eating cold pomegranate seeds

that burst violent

and red

on my tongue

—

nerve chill

teeth ache

tongue manipulates

arils from rind

—

six hundred and

thirteen

ways to make love

to you

—

but it’s winter solstice

and we

aren’t speaking

—

hands painted

with juice

—

lips warm

as I lick them

—

I sit back

down at the desk

alone.