Hilary King

Aftertaste

Maybe it was not the apple

that tempted Adam or even

the bare, brown arm of Eve

extended towards him,

red orb in cupped fingers

that broke Adam’s God-given reserve.

Maybe it was Eve’s mouth,

How it tasted after a bite

of crisp, cold fruit:

like a room newly painted,

a house newly built,

or a garden just before harvest.

He could go there too, Adam

realized, leave this yard with its snakes

and overlords and stench

of rotting fruit and everywhere

dandelions which He swears are edible

but never flood the mouth

with sweetness and promise.