Fallen

It wasn’t heaven
That place we fell from
When finally fear pressed us
Free from the garden like
Paper cutouts done by hand.

There was no snake whispering
Sweet sensual nothings rippling
Down your spine turning
Your knees your belly your sex to water
Warm and salty as an inland sea.

There was just you
And me
And the blank hole of desire
Left by the space our bodies made
After slicing free of the page
In a book where everyone else leads
Picture-perfect lives.

©KB Imle 2018

Photo by Madhu Shesharam on Unsplash