Eve Poem by Agatha Eliza

Not far away from me,
this obedient man
is sound asleep,
and maybe, at this late hour,
God isn't watching...

Through his missing rib,
my life flourishes (now it is my own)
with the salty tears
that are turned into blood
this awkward burden
that I've been borrowed,
as grains of earth pour in
through the cracks
of my counscience, as this
former void
is brimming over
with most-welcomed knowledge,
deeply nurturing, feeding
the fragile sprouts
of a revolted inner flower
grown from the remnants
of the apple seeds
I carried with me
when the angel chased us from Eden.