the growing season

husband not father
but in late, secret moments,
you confess visions of me, ripened and sweet,
dripping

captivated by the way my body provides

I imagine you beneath me
cradling my heavy breasts,
my swollen belly in your hands
palms up in veneration of the
life I’ve created without you—
the life you never wanted

I, Persephone,
will never bear your fruit
but still you
split me open each night
searching for a place to bury yourself

you are the barren earth and you are Hades
and i am
desperate

afterwards
you slip silently into bed next to a woman who loves you
and I lie awake, aching, empty;

we have both eaten pomegranate seeds

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I'm not sold on the title or the way I expressed the end thought, but open to any and all feedback. thank you so much for reading.