Words are pomegranates with growing pains from green to ripe red,

juice runs thicker than blood
and seeds are born from yearning

overreaching with dreams, opening words,
soiled words, like durian, the stench and the desire,
like a stone-fruit, for the pit to emerge,
it is the lack that dreams

Names broken out of thick skin,
only to be planted again
even my name is a misdemeanor

my heart spills
after long, long divisions, remainders of blood
there is nothing but thick red juice

dense, radiant fruits run through me
bathing in rivers
staining rocks darker red

under cool green-filtered light,
the love from my heart, full, hanging heavy on the branch.
pain reverberates, wind-flung like
the seeds of words, 

between human and animal, my body, like my name, is not for me to judge

in this written wood my lamp falters
before these dreams were broken I was
in the dark comfort of wombs