The history is all wrong.

There was no apple bitten, no snake tempting, no man blaming
It was just us – the wild children of Eden

All honeyed skinned, and golden tongued
All fault-line glances, all suffocating rectitude.

I had a dream we were robbing constellations,
Turning harps rotten until it shook
God in to a hunger strike.

It was looking through another soul
Seeing all dark sides, the hidden
Atrophy, seeing the dynamite in his mouth
and never faltering in crashing lips.

I see us as how we had been, or
How we could be.

How wounding. How disdainfully us.

Your rib, my poniard
My heart, your fruit.

Loving you was the first religion
Loving you was the first offering.

Today we are half sick celestials.
the myth of a memory
Eons ago we were but humans caught
In the war between God and Satan.

The scriptures got it all wrong,
We were as much as the world’s undoing
As we were its casualties.

Someday we will be more than rumor fed shadows.