Pomegranate

Maybe not an onion,
layers peeling back layers
of the same;
maybe something webbed,
many-chambered.
My heart is a pomegranate.
Crimp and crenellation over
seeds bursting with secrets,
every wish wrapped in
tissue like skin, skin like
tissue.
Every fold a layer between
me and the world.
Me and myself.
Unwrap me and I unwrap
myself,
spilling secrets like seeds
into my hands.
I'll offer some to you.

~November 2009

Constellation

I turn out the lights
in my old room,
after packing up my things,
and the stars are lit up.
I remember the sky that night,
the grass sparkling at our feet,
the way our minds form
a constellation.
The brightest star has fallen
from the ceiling,
but that is you,
glowing steady at my door.

~November 28 2009