There’s ripened fruit upon the tree.
Let’s not unduly hesitate,
my love, for after all we’re free
to graze. And He would never bait
a fatal hook with modest food
or tease us with its majesty—
our trespass, neither bold nor rude
should cross no loving entity.
But thunder in the snapping twig
came lightning through our virgin loins
that cowered under sprigs of fig,
but not before we first were joined.
Now all creation groans and waits
for calmer hearts and kinder fates.


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