Watermelon (Cut-up poem from Tim)

I ate a watermelon, the seeds slipping between my lips,
And remembered a plumb memory:
A boy once told me that any watermelon seed I ate
Would sit in the dark of my belly, that internal darkness,
And the seeds would wait to grow, to spindle in my abdomen.
They would stick until I opened my mouth,
For sun to shine and cast lines of shade and light.
The vines would soon grow, furling and tucking,
In the darkest and softest areas of me.
And once skin spanned, alive in the lack of what I never truly knew,
The boy said that one day I would give birth to this melon,
And give it a name.