There is succulence in Eden—juices ooze with each puncture
as we unfold the petals of the flower and pluck fruit from the stem.
We are thieves, stealing the pearl from her hiding
eating grapes from the vine
pulling carrots from the patch.
Such jewels were meant to be stolen—without repercussion or reprisal.
They will grow back and ripen under different suns, different moons
but this Eden will not replenish. Once tasted, there is no salvation.
The juices are intoxicants, the fruits addictions that we continue to buy
from the goblins at the gates—how sticky sweet, how viscous with pleasure!
More wine—
More fruit—
More succulence!
There is time, time to get lost in the thin petals of flowers
time to forget the world before drunk Eden
time to learn the language of goblins and trolls
who recognize beauty, perhaps more than most.
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