Pomegranate for Beginners
start with a bruised
body and the wrong knife,
take a hound’s eye: follow
the pierce and spatter,
little globules seething
as red thumbs dig
to outrun the decay.
your eye for an act of decreation; my finest
conjuring trick. first I scatter
athwart, let my rose-kissed
knuckles pound ice into cloud
and make hazy entrance tell me
which role you’d like me to play. I will melt
into its garrotte, clarion and clinking.
for a second round: still frigid, sweating
a little. let me slip behind the lacquer
screen, my inbetween
is for me only. a third
is out of the question.
your luck just asking. besides, you would not relish
the glimmer phases of my moonface turned
blush fuchsia berry carmine
turned turned turned
cochineal pulp, a glass of wriggling
eager to burrow through gum
to brew a milktooth
of rot that will not be wrenched, no
matter your knack with industrial pliers
stick to two servings, liebling.
I’m sweeter this way
Bluey Little (she/they) is a hot mess of air signs. She is also a queer poet and theatremaker based between Glasgow and London. You can find more of their work in: the lickety~split, Daughterhood Zine, -algia, and Bathed in Concrete.