Yes, it was date rape - and later maybe Spousal assault, I mean don't you think Locking your wife underground with things That are - well - fundamentally dead Is the kind of a thing a girl should be rescued from? So of course my mother was right And she certainly never lied when she Said she'd be back; and she made me promise Not to eat or drink anything. I really thought It was just an ordinary hunger strike. Or maybe to keep me looking rescuable. She doesn't herself anymore, you know. The Earth Mother type, always fussing in the garden And in the kitchen, baking bread with one hand And tugging at my waistband with the other. So when he offered me a few pomegranate seeds - Opulently red, you know the way they are, Turning your fingers purple as you dig them out Of the dead flesh. Oh, I thought they couldn't Possibly have enough calories to hold me anywhere. They were sweet, with a bit of a bite. Like his kisses. What do you want me to say? I admit it's Controlling and abusive and really if we were Starting right from the top I would have run a Little faster in the first place. But now I confess I like it. I like him. I like the darkness and the screams. I'd rather be queen of the dead part of the year than Nobody all of it. If we were starting from the middle I'd still open my mouth and let him Drop those bloody pearls onto my tongue.