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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