Forbidden fruit.

The seed drips.

Scarlet, wine, merlot.

And from the clutches of her poison fingers,

Her poisoned heart curls.

Goddess of the flowers,

But there are no flowers

In the underworld.

There are no flowers here.

Her lips stained,

As she brushes her cardamom hair

One.

Two.

Three.

The juice drips from the seeds.

Are those hums or screams?

Is she prisoner or queen?

Who is to say she wouldn't be insane

If she hadn’t eaten those pomegranate seeds?