By: Sara Karim
You spit the pomegranate arils out: (how they are lucky) rose pile of pulp spotted beige. I find it disgusting you disgust me it’s nature’s candy or pills and we have had enough of both (but how could you not wish for more?) a mouthful contains fourteen grams of sugar as much as two Original Brand grape popsicles (not counting the lavender pool of slush and sweat that drips down your damp stubble) oblong hard tinted white with freezer burn I would have been invigorated watching you chew you with a grease stain on your tank top (I am always on top) you with an apathetic glaze (it has spread onto mine; I wear contacts now) a genius, mumbled on an exhale where did you spit them out?
Sara Karim is originally from Astana, Kazakhstan, and currently a psychology student at Southern New Hampshire University.