scribblings of a weak spirit

that pull
the glinting crimson has on Eve
that even as her heart turns away
away
her eyes
unblinking
fingers long, hungry
and snatching
align with the black slither against the brown of the bark
and the sound of its smooth sibilance
drawing her into lustful inebriation.
crispness consumes and
tangy foam trickles off an oblivious chin
jagged pearls sinking into forbidden flesh
down to the core.
and then
oh and then,
the jar of waking realization, of panic,
the undoubted pain of fear and disappointment
wiping out all previous pleasures.
and how I must have wailed.