when he shoved his tongue

down her throat

she fooled herself

into thinking he tasted like

pomegranate

instead of

sweat and force

she wondered if

it was his hands

choking her

or his black as coal eyes

tracing along her

every moment

yet never fully meeting

her gaze

crunch

the impact

of his knuckles

against her rosy cheeks

made her flinch back

but she forced herself

to think that he turned her into art

purples, and reds, and yellows

stroking her cheekbones

the embodiment of a sunset

her tears

were captured in her

eyelashes like a net

reflecting her lies

It was CRUNCH time. I'd already been informed by Annabelle that POMEGRANATE was the new BLACK, but I was using normal blusher for today's show.

Appearing in female form wasn't my thing, but if the investigation was going to get anywhere then it's horses for courses as the Lieutenant had said.

I'd never worn high heels before so balancing was a problem - plus they were too tight dammit, not only that but my damn tights had laddered.

I quickly finished the makeup and checked in the mirror how I looked, not bad I thought, but not good either. I looked like some old wench that had been hit by a truck, but it would have to do.

I quickly put on the EYELASHES then headed out to the stage area, it was dark, too dark for my liking but at least I was less likely to be spotted. The suspect was sitting in the audience and all I had to do was slap the cuffs on him when I got close. It was gonna be easy.

The old guy made the announcement and I stepped out from behind the curtains into the spotlight. I smiled so no one would notice.

It was undercover alright, but I hadn't figured I'd be slotted into a damn beauty pageant. Still, once this was over I was on easy street for three weeks vacation.

They called my name and I stepped over to the catwalk, my cuffs hidden beneath my coat. This would be a piece of cake.

The music started playing as I slowly stepped along, though these damn heels kept skidding from side to side. People were laughing and I could hear catcalls and whistles, I kept smiling around as I neared the turn point.

Then my goddamn heel broke, I kept walking but I was bathed in sweat from the lights, almost there. It was hard to make out who was who under the glare of the lamps but I figured I could see the suspect just feet away now.

It was now or never, I leapt down from the catwalk and grabbed him before he had the chance to think. In a second I had him cuffed. He was just looking at me with that stupid surprised look they all have when I nab 'em.

I told him the show was over just as my back up arrived. Everyone was falling about with laughter - I flashed my badge and they piped down. The Lieutenant would be pleased.

Walking home in the winter,

frost gnawing at your exposed flesh, the crunch of the snow is the only sound that's prolonging your madness due to such a silent night. Snow catches in your hair and on your eyelashes, blurring your vision even further. The sky is full of stars, appearing as its own little snowflakes, filtering your surroundings like a blanket of darkness. Beautiful, black infinity. Your nose, lips, and cheeks have turned red, your eyes looking like endless darkness against the rest of your colorless skin. I remember kissing those lips, the bittersweet taste lingering on my tongue like a pomegranate seed. Pure innocence bursting into my mouth, the venomous bite afterward. We use to love each other and now we're just a faded memory. A dream we can't recall. A nightmare long forgotten. A winter night melted away by a spring morning.

the coldest hands

I ever felt

were wrapped up in velvet

everything fresh fallen

crunches beneath one's feet

and insinuates satisfaction

raven hair

imitated midnight

unapologetic black

skin shines against

eyelashes dripping

after the rain

pressed to her

pomegranate lips

passion puckers

apples are expected

unruffled by the threat

of slumber

It always bothered me that the fruit was fake. There were a lot of other fake things in the room: faux furs, prints of famous paintings, the plastic wood in the fireplace. It was the fruit that bothered me, though. I always wanted to take a bite of it, ever since I was a kid. Apples and bananas and a shiny pomegranate that just begged to be eaten. Except if I took a bite I might break my teeth on it, taste the rubbery surface. False sweetness.

My aunt was like a centerpiece to it all. She was orderly but rarely dusted, and much of her décor had only been hip back in the seventies. She fought age with hair dye and silicone breasts. Her eyelashes jutted out way too far to be natural. They left little rabbit trails of black mascara beneath her eyebrows.

When she hugged me, I felt my bones crunch and grind. It was like she was trying to pull me into herself. Like she was some old witch, feasting on the blood of young virgins so that the wrinkles in her skin might smooth out. “There’s auntie’s honey!” She’d say. “There’s auntie’s baby!” She’d plant a wet smack of a kiss on my head that was somehow always cold.

She was the black sheep. Maybe at first she was ashamed about it, but she wasn’t anymore. She went to family gatherings with head held high. She’d been married four times. Three of her exes had been married men when she stole them away. They whispered ‘homewrecker’ behind her back at first, but she stole that from them and put it on like a badge. She threw open the doors with the word burning on lips stretched in a fierce and defiant smile. They couldn’t use it against her anymore.

I think she died long before they put her in the coffin. Mother always said that grandpa never liked her like the other kids. Maybe that was why she turned out how she did. Or maybe it was that boy in high school who took her innocence and broke her heart. I think that was the only time she cried, when my aunt told me that story. The tear carved a furrow in her makeup.

I would never say it out loud, but I bet she’s happier dead. Everyone’s clicking their rosary beads together for her. Rising, falling, hailing Mary full of grace pray for us now in the hour. They’re trying to pray her into heaven, trying to guide her to the gates.

I don’t think they need to. I think she’s just going to push her way through them.

Have you ever experienced resistance

like a web of black fibers -

interwoven little ghosts

clamping down upon your head -

that crunched as you bucked

like an unbroken pony

and fought them off until

they were swept into the aether

by your guide?

And then you blink your eyes

with clarity anew.

A pomegranate, not an apple,

may have been the fruit

of the tree in the garden

that was plucked and eaten,

you realize.

A demon

Molded from flesh

Appears human at first glance

But his black heart

Gives him away

He feeds on children's misery

With sharp teeth

Picking them apart

like pomegranate

Eating through bone and flesh

Crunch

Leaving nothing behind

crunch

Not even an eyelash

Crunch

And when he is through

He sets out to find another

For his appetite

Cannot be

Suppressed

I twist open a pomegranate, only slightly minding that a few seeds fell to the floor. Absentmindedly, I snack until the crunch of the seeds alone is no longer enough to hold my attention.

I know that I'm just putting off the inevitable, that I'm just delaying the moment when my fears become either irrational or simply too great and real.

Throwing in the empty shell of the fruit, I nervously walk to my closet and take in the little black dress that I had hoped to wear later this evening.

What if he doesn't like it?

What if it isn't the type of thing everyone is wearing?

Is it too short?

Does it make me look fat?

A billion questions run through my mind.

I unzip it with trembling hands, the fabric delicate and soft. Slipping it on, I realize that it fit perfectly, possibly better than it had before.

I'm ready before I know it, and my eyelashes feel twenty times heavier with mascara on.

I twirl around and hear a loud crunch.

My glasses.

I look down quickly and see that the lenses were shattered. I had to resort to contacts, although I wasn't looking forward to that.

In a matter of minutes my date is at the door.

As it turns out, my fears were irrational.

crunch crunch crunch crunch

goes the cold, black snow and ice

as you walk and slip across it

eyelashes fluttering

deflecting the falling snowflakes

and the tart taste

of pomegranate seeds

flooding your mouth

with every bite

flooding your mind with

vibrant colors

distracting you from the frigid

bitter cold

Summer is near. I can tell by the crisp change of weather. I can hear the crunch of apples and strawberries and pomegranates. I can hear giggling from houses all around. Young girls with thick black eyelashes are whispering about the boys they love.

Summer is so near. Summer is so sweet.