A bit of the apple


Thursday, May 14, 2015


He waits for her to speak

Caring not so much for what is said,

Just as long as she says it,

Each new word from parted lips

A miracle of sound,

Resounding in his ears

As if this is the first time he could hear,

This how Adam must have felt

When Eve first spoke,

Aching for the moment when she

Might offer him the apple,

She unaware of the hiss of snake

He knows is his voice,

Her red lips pressed against

The cool red skin of the fruit

She must inevitable offer him,

The pop of its breaking flesh,

The drip of juice on her chin,

The look of blood lust in her eyes,

Her fingers still dripping

As she hands the bitten apple

For him to bite,

He drinking deeply the same sweet juice,

Tasting the sweetness of her lips,

Hearing her voice above the din

Of avenging angels and the deep bellow

Of an enraged god,

He hears only her voice

And tastes only her.



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