By: Spencer DiSparti
From his forked tongue, he flickers
His craft with serpentine splendor.
Her bodacious figure fills
His slit-eyes, like a libertine mirror.
Spellbound, she wanders where the beast
Was coiled about the ancient tree.
“Do not fear my child, for Death does not reside,
Where eyes desire the taste of illumination.”
The Fruits of Hunger
Enchantment’s euphoric scent
Draws her reverential eye;
Blinded by slithering charms,
She caresses the swollen jewel
That drips from the garden’s vine,
Delving into its supple flesh.
Licking her lustful lips of sin,
She revels with unbridled rapture.
Caught in the web of a dream,
She bestows this forbidden treasure
To him, sating his growing hunger.
Falling as one into the hands of temptation.
A Garden’s Grave
Awakened to their nakedness,
They bury themselves in shame
As the voice of God beckons
His children to come to him,
Casting them from the garden
Of paradise, into the throes
Of the unforgiving world.
“My daughter, you shall crave the sword
Of your husband, enslaved to him
And bear the thorns in the womb—
My son, you shall harvest the cursed
Land, bleeding for your bread all your days,
From the dust you came, and so you shall return!”
Turned from grace, they entwined
And the seed of the world was sown.