Mock
At the core of desire
A woman stops and turns
And says I waited for so long
It’s not my age we laugh
I say you aren’t the face
You say I’m not the heel
The fruit eventually ripens
Split pomegranate in two
A little light gets through
The moth mocks the flame
All burns bright for a day
And the sun sets with a puff
Later the dust is scattered
The world opens and shuts
We eat the blood and bone.
© 2015 Rob Schackne
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