Breaking your story
right down the middle
into perfect half-shells;
I see fruit left standing on end —
to rot?
to sprout?
to be consumed?
Did that truly come out of what you’ve been claiming
was yours? I can’t see
impressions on it at all;
it’s lovely, soft, so ripe —
how is this possible?
How can you be?
How might this, so unguarded now, grow?
Dark Matter 