Pomegranates

There is something to pomegranate seeds
And their curved geometry
They are perfectly smooth until
                                                   Punctured
And then gush, like deflating balloons
In that way, we are balloons too
Always rising
I knew a girl, and her lips were the perfect hue of
Pomegranates
Her name was Samantha
Except for when it wasn't
And most of the time it wasn't
We are all balloons
Held whole by nothing less than tension
Always
            Rising
(Except for when we're not)