Seeds

There is a fruit
round and wet
that tends to weep
and likes to caress.
Too many seeds
empty and unclean
claim they forget
what they've seen.
You scoop them away
almost too fast
and there is no
room to ask.
The shell rips
and cracks open
its body taut
it's color hoping.
But she is unaware
that I would have known
if she hadn't
left her hair.