by Beau Scorgie
looming enchantment.
Tethered to the Earth,
gravid in forbidden fruit.
Gifts from our fore-mothers,
the curse of Eve.
Flirtatious and charming is she,
selfish and heartless she is.
An acquired taste for the verboten,
tempted by Adam's betrothal.
And flee he did, his little honeybees,
to feast upon her ruby nectar.
Have you ever heard the honeybees cry?
neither have I.
The apple never falls far from the tree,
ruby and ripe like my mother.
My father was a honeybee,
and I am my father's daughter.
1 comment:
truthful words.
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