last sex-driven poem for a while, i promise. i'm just in a hormonal mood, i guess.

i cannot imagine that this is
eden, or that you and i are
both adam, because although
we took (stealthily) from the
hard wood tree at the center
of the garden there is no eve
to tempt us with her curves
(no eve on earth, despite how
much easier it would be to love
her, that feminine softness who
makes me gag)

eden was the place where time moved
too quickly, and here it is stopped:
despite how we arch our backs in
orgasmic pleasure we never produce
anything but dust. the rest of
the world moves
onward with production
but we are alone here in the
garden-of-mostly-evil.

oh god
i breathe (god took enoch, and enoch
was not. but when you take me
violently, then I AM)
and as we approach the rapture
i bleat like a sheep (goats
go to hell) i bleat like
an animal
will i go to hell?
probably
that's what
we're told
did adam go to
heaven? probably
not. and he had
eve.


Eh, I got a little rushed near the end. I don't like this one as much as my last one. My secret is: sometimes you just gotta get these out.

EDIT: I changed some things that bothered me about this poem.