Saturday, November 21, 2020

Previously Published in EgoPHobia . . .


With Apple

I become Eve to your Adam,
though you have no discernable signs
of having recently lost a rib.
I bite anyway,
pierce red skin
with foreshadowing teeth.  I hold
my breath.  You take
my hand and for a moment I wish
it had been poisoned.




No comments:

Post a Comment

Previously Published in Epigraph . . .

To Spin Or Not To Spin Static transporter taunts me infinitely across a room of mirrors, reminders of necessity.  Cold motivators of perpetu...