eve

henry 7. reneau, jr.

eve must have felt out of place
from the beginning,
kaleidoscope color, texture, and sensation
bum-rushing a newborn mind—

think elsa lanchester with her hair blowed back,
the smell of the rib joint still on her
as unrestrained adam stumbled to dominance—

eve, curious child in the garden of awes,
a poetry created from a mouthful of air,
when her eyes lit upon the taboo tree,
emerald-green solicitor entwined,
temptation, its prerogative—

think bobby “be bad” brown in repose