In The Garden

There is no serpent here
No viper other than my
Own writhing self-loathing –
Yet I grasp hope
with salty fingers

There is no woman
Other than myself
No other man necessary
If I had you
in de-nuded perfection

There is no shame
In living by halves
Until the pattern
Is made for a whole
sewn hip to hip

There are no rules
Though in other edens
Men were sovereign
(adam first and noah next)
and I am no meek rib

There is little left to wonder
Though I do, how I do:
Would you play adam to my eve
If I could conceive
an eden for just we two?

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