Morning After Eden Poem by Val Morehouse

Daylight floods like saliva.
Adam asleep after Eden,
an itchy ex-cherub bearded and dreaming
of broken eggs as the coffee yawns then
plops dun into clear glass.

Eyes unlock slowly that first morning.
Words rainbow out to sight
taste, smell, and sound,
Adam's head come to harvest the
halo of pain in the mirror.

A cacophony of iron clamors
and tongues ring while the bacon
whispers on the pan its little snake dance.
Now Eve hears the silence between his words,
and the fork prongs in her hand.