its red like my first borns lips

growing outside
my bedroom window
ripening on the vine
is my first
and its deep red
like the first time
blood ran
from my moon,
from his manhood
inside me.
It wasn't a apple
but a pomegranate
Eve picked in
the lovely garden
offered her.
she knew
in that fruit
were sweet explosive
garnets of expression
waiting for her.
to be enjoyed
over and over
waves of red roses
over sunsets.