with november scraped skin, subdued starlight

blew our features away, wind pulling our 

sleepy 

eyelids 

apart

until flimsy tears flooded from our weary eyes 

under the pomegranate moon

the sun

  the earth

     the moon

their gazes met

in a passionate affair

that candied copper blush 

illuminated our young faces

pennies glinting in fountain water

wishes wandering, waiting

rusted and pink like soft raw flesh

like infant love

dreary dreams, disappearing

metal oxidized—green

tired, rusted

but we were no fleeting fling 

we were denser than the flowing water

we sank to the bottom

and did not move

our color stained the concrete we stood on

or so we believed

but i loved the taste of that pomegranate

in the sky—sugary

it would crumble, fade deliciously 

in my mouth

while we watched, firmly 

planted

in the soil below

Zuha Jaffar