Renaissance

The woman in pyrus scales withered and
the needle of her hips bade me to follow.

In my path grew a young pear tree,
He stood wretched and covered with soil.
When at second glance, I bent my neck to find
he had in one blink
blossomed to maturity and bore pears
the size of my mother's hands.

Embracing his limbs, leaves began to enclose me
and stung my skin with nectar

My feet bled into awry roots, my fingers to
branches and stood before me,
the naked image of a man

He stretched forth his fist and plucked
a single fruit from my ragged stomach.
Separating flesh from seed, his jaw fell loose,
emptying me on the ground.

Without hesitance, I sighed and watched as my
belly began to rise, soil shedding from my skin.
Through my tendons, the bitter wind danced
cutting the mist with rhythmic motions--

This impressed the man who stood before me,
as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed
from the needle it held.

The woman in pyrus scales withered
and from her, I had come;

A needle hidden in the swells of a boy, who now
shook his head in his hands.  He knelt
to the Earth and placed his head there in mercy.