Like Eve eating the first fruit,
I savoured the fruit’s
passion, luscious like milk-
weed in my mouth. I picked
and ate and ate again until
in the lucent indigo seed-
core, mouth-watering seed
after seed, sustained me.
The initial itch and scratch
stung my soft skin, reddening
my belly like the fire-scorched
specks of red soil cleaving, crackling
under the sun, craving for rain.
Rain clouds, I imagined,
reflected on the wild foliage
of the neighbour’s garden –
ceaseless rain, I imagined,
cleansing the wild passion’s ivy-
shadow darkening our shared
wooden fences unevenly.
