I split it open with my thumbs
not gently.
The skin resists then gives,
like something that’s held on too long.  

Inside,
a mess of red.
Seeds clinging to each other
in tight, silent clusters.
Little hearts stacked together
Innocent, unaware 
they’re about to be eaten.  

My hands stain.
The juice runs
not clean, not pretty.
It stains
like a heartbreak 
not all at once,
but in slow drops.