From the Fishouse

I wanted the blood from the lip you'd bite
open for me. I wanted the soft back
of your knee that glowed like an otter's eye,
the flag of hair you'd throw out through the wild
sky, singing praises to Him through the air.
Clearly put, I was not born to be one

more pretty poppy in that garden. One
more handful of fruit just for you to bite,
a patch of dirt where you could plant your heirs.
I was a song you had to put your back
into. The first born fairy. Artless, wild
and bare. And I wanted more than my eye

saw, more than the final glance of your eyes
after you pinned me. No - I wanted one
of your ribs. So I took it. Felt my wild
heart crack with arias as my nails bit
into your side, sliding my fingers back
out, waving that slim wet bone through the air—

spinning myself in sass and yards of air
kisses - turning my nose and loud ass eyes
up to Him. And yes His fire split my back
as if He'd snatched from its cloudy bed one
virgin lightening bolt and threaded its bite
through my bold spine — as if I wasn't wild

enough. As if loving me was too wild,
too blasphemous an idea to air
in Eden. Who was I to need a bit
of love from the gold apple of His eye.
Adam, you helpless egg. I slipped you one
kiss and bled for us, but you were all back

and shoulders to me. Offering your tears back
to that giant nipple. Crying of wild
blood on your thighs. He only could hear one
side. So when that apple dropped through the air
I took it deep in my mouth and then I
saw that the bliss of absolution bites

straight through the heart of any one error.
So, yes, I backslapped Eden with my bloody wild,
But then—who gave you the Universe to bite?