The death of Eden,
was inevitable.
But it shows in your
mascara stained,
hazel-nut,
fuck the things,
damn the river,
I need your help,
ghostly shimmered,
He my Father,
Fuck Fuck-
Fuck,
touch me there-
gaze,
that its truth is fresh.
I am no oracle but its no surprise.
You mumble a few lines
of absent nothings, so soft
their sound hardly gets to my ear.
All I could
make out was
“Am I adam or eve?”
And I felt the length
of that question in my bones,
shooting up my spine;
stinging with truth.
I lean over,
putting my weight on broken wrists
and gently whisper back
“Sin,
is what we carry
and yours is a mountain
I have tried to move.
I give up dear sir or madam.
Expulsion is a punishment
I wish you wouldn’t
keep the Euphrates
damned
between your arms.
When my body is
parched
of its sweet nectar,
it leaves a bitter taste
on my tongue.
Leaving would be a wise man’s decision,
but you are my oracle.
My Father.
Every drip of knowledge
I have of this world
stems from your breath.
The silver lines you spooned me,
I still hold dear.
The hand that held my cheek,
still lingers a blush.
I never said I was mad,
just hoping
one day you will part the seas
and allow me to be consumed by its weight.
And maybe then I’ll find you.
Brace!
thundering
towards
my fleshy
shore,
as I lay
between
land and
sea.
Where
Her frigid
water
marches
in line,
one by
one
like a
metronome’s
song.
Each crash
compressing
my chest
as breathing
seems
a worth-
less task.
Staring at the
division
of everything
and
nothing
all I
have left
is to
pray to a
God who
won’t
will one
day
take me
with Her.
And I
can be
engulfed
by Her
being.