Pomegranate
You gift the bruise
of silver fruit
from the aerial trees,
the lionskin hill flints
a jewel fire.
We taste the pomegranate
bit red on our lips,
we kiss in the river
bathed with forgetting
the vow of our lips
and the vow of the torrent
and the spill of a cup.
The acanthus lances
the sky banners,
we wash
and swim timeless,
the lace of rose water
slippers your feet.
of silver fruit
from the aerial trees,
the lionskin hill flints
a jewel fire.
We taste the pomegranate
bit red on our lips,
we kiss in the river
bathed with forgetting
the vow of our lips
and the vow of the torrent
and the spill of a cup.
The acanthus lances
the sky banners,
we wash
and swim timeless,
the lace of rose water
slippers your feet.
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