Fruit Of Paradise

I remember the garden, the snake, The curse of disease & death The Exodus. Leaving Eden, the hot wind whipping my hair, I stumbled into the desert with the Man My soft feet torn by thorns and jagged stones Even the cacti shriveled before our touch our happiness overthrown, our life uncertain In my hand, I carried the pomegranate Pomme-grenade, the fruit of seed and blood I hurled it into a stream in a deep valley Alone in that virgin space, to sink or swim Traders plucked it, taught it the Silk Road route This fruit I loved, stolen from God’s own garden This refugee from the very gates of Paradise Each morning I turn my lips to its crimson flesh Sweet in my mouth as the tongue of my latest lover In the moonlight, under the olives I drink its juice. No-knowledge sweeps me along Into the little death that some call sleep