Prelapsarian

your teeth

crooked

against taut flesh,

like the inside

of my thigh

was a peach-skin

on the verge

of breaking

there was an apple

in your throat,

and i created sin

trying to wrap

my mouth

around it

i tried to

resist,

but my legs

held like

boa constrictors

about your waist

i cried out for

the lord but

he wasn't the one

who came