Sex in my mind is fine.
I'm very right on
we'll leave the light on
when you climb on and slowly fall
from heaven and that empyreal hall.

You're eve with that forbidden rappel
down my lapel to the foot of the tree.
I'm Adam – pompous and angry but quickly
all forgiveness and Eucharist. Dearest,
you can caress me forlornly just spit shine me
with your sleeve and bite deep and red.

Knowing is ours but it's not to our taste
it's knots in our stomach. A rot. A waste.
I see a fallen pear. Late in the year, deep in the garden.
There's 200 like it - a yellow mush brown-tinged.

Black and yellow slurping wasps live in their food.
Gorging, gorgeous butterflies are too drunk on cider to rise.
Shakily one sets off but it's known a human's touch
and it too, with a lurch, lands head first and returns to its crutch.
On vacation from modding = don't pm me with your pish