Eve, On Adam

 

Eve, On Adam

The form is holy,

Shaped in sacred ecstasy,

Sculpted from hallowed clay,

And I fear, if I touch his shape,

I will pollute his earth,

Or in turn, he will ruin me.

Perhaps, I’d fill his skies with factory smoke,

His river with toxic slime,

Burn his crops,

Deforest his lands,

Leave him to die. 

Would I make him a lesser man, more of a thing?

Make him bleed…

Who am I to touch, and

Who am I not to?

My purpose is to populate,

But in so doing, I pollute,

Unhallow this anointed hearth,

Profane this consecrated earth.

Blood is my calling, and God is my chain,

And though I’m prone to fall, I am held back,

And yet…

Is one touch strong enough to ruin us?

Can one touch truly kill?

My palms are soft, my fingers fragile…lethal?

Is it the way I walk, naturally, without pomp, that makes me tempt to sin?

Is it the way I blink crystals from my eyes

That makes him fall to his knees?

Is it my sharpened ankles; is it my wormy hair?

And him…

Is it the tongue poking through lips, spittle at the side?

Is it his leer, his shrug, his armpit sweat, his veiny neck, his crooked manliness?

His reddened eyes, his horseshoe legs, his hazardous desires?

Is it his stink that makes me lose control or how he scowls throughout the day?

Nothing of his should appeal…nothing about him, and yet…

Clay is no foundation, we’re cracked all over!

Look at me.  Look at him!

So weak,

So pathetic that fleshy snakes can make us lose our minds,

Make us plunge into the deep,

Make us scour our souls of their purity. 

Unnatural, we are served to be devoured with a sign reading: don’t!

Come close to me;

Let’s reevaluate. 

How rancid would I taste inside your mouth?

Would my tongue corrupt your spit so that your drool could debase the ground?

Closer.

Would this prick have wicked thoughts,

Become a tool of malfeasance, only if I touch? 

Honestly? 

Beneath this barren tree of knowledge, answerless, alone,

We must be clear:

Is communion vile?  Yes.

Is it abhorrent?  Yes.

The answers are made clear.

So then…

When night clouds shuffle in the air and stars spin across,

When heat replaces cold,

What is it that we feel? 

Is it the flame of hell?

Or the warmth of God?

With one touch, one innocent, lusty touch,

Will I ruin you?

And does it really matter?

You’ll fuck me anyways.