Fill my cup, I'll fill yours—
there's an agony in each sip—
in a moment knowing it's a moment—
each kiss lighting my flesh a deeper shade of pink.
In the Garden of Eden, Eve ate the apple because she saw God line it with my skin. Consume was the order of the snake. But I am not Eve, nor am I Adam.
I say fill me like I'm empty but you fill me like I'm full.
I spill, my puddle on the floor like apple juice. You drink me.
Tell me about the dream where you're an apple on a tree.
How I climbed through the branches to reach you on its peak.
Can you smell the way a hummingbird drinks sweetwater? Can you hang a tire swing from the arm of God?
I can sit in the agony—the beautiful red moments between sugary sweet and wanting.
