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