i bite into the most fertile of a sam's club globular red dragon. an explosion of spring expands in my mouth prematurely as i roll out amongst the dormant grasses and gnarled trees, red dragons contained and in tow. how is it that these spherical dragon orbs are consistently so so very perfect, round, blemish free? well, until my teeth and tongue find with the desiccated crunch of autumn leaf fodder under foot those wicked seeds in threes! a thousand curses for not buying seedless. i wrap and wrap my brain round its pleasure seeking undeseeded globular sweet vice! must reframe, sooo with a heft, the plastered on positive reminds, I do want seeds sans the overtly genetically manipulated and mutated. I do want plants that self propagate, that have a sex life. I text myself promises and platitudes that the seeds are not some feral invasive globular grape vineyard that will over take my gut before the sun clicks past to create the next moon. I babble on how happy my septic field will be with this off cast plethora of propagating pits. I draw close and whisper in my own ear it's good to have some form of fertility to pass through the barren wasteland of my female frame because I find all kinds of pithy pleasure in mocking my waning womanhood. all this passes through my head in that very fleeting desiccated crunch moment, I laugh almost aloud and remember this is why I am glad I am me.