Fruit

It's an ache
which comes from deeper than within my heart.
It roots itself in my being
and grows outward, through my
tongue and fingertips;
reaching to grab hold of your throat
and transfer the pain.
And then all at once, I realize:
it's the absence of you.
When you left, you planted these seeds of dull within me,
and time watered them.
Darkness needs no light
as it grows and takes over.
It's like sitting at a table with empty chairs--
fruitfulness spilling from my limbs onto plates,
but none who still exist that want to partake
in the picking of my putrid fruit.
Were these seeds always within me?
Tame these wild branches pushing through my mouth.
I don't want to hurt you.
I will sway on without you,
and you will sway on without me.