We Chat in Her Garden

I am not far from the snake and apple,
As I suspect you'd put it, Eve. I mean
That I didn't come here to pray. To
Prey, perhaps, with your acquiescence,
To try to soothe a fever that has built
Throughout the summer's heat. Let us
Go lower than to our knees. Let us
Lie naked and see if it's sin, or something
We haven't encountered, as yet. God may
Be good, but he seems to be busy.
You have been pious, and I have been
Patient, but neither of us has found
The light. I believe that it flickers
Inside your eyes, though you
Labor to hide it, buttoned up primly
And always turning them from mine.
I come, once again, with hope that I'll see
It. Search with me, Eve. Have a taste
Of the apple. If you won't, I'll slither away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 33 times
Written on 2011-09-15 at 13:15

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