This bland Adam, a reaper of the sun In bone dry season, for Eve was busy sucking thumbs Pricked in rosy gardens as he spattered into shells And ran with morning fauna; His mastiffs and gazelle
Breathless as the wind Adam, prowled, fell foul to Sin But not before She spread Her grin Across His silent lips At crack of day, though what was shame? The raptor's nest wherein they lay Bore witness to Her soft parade Of fingers come to grips!
