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!

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