I feel creeping things in my gut
when I sense you there.
Wrinkles radiate from your eyes,
cross-hatch your hands.
Everything no more: face a fallen walnut;
voice a dried pond, no longer fair;
spine gives no strength to rise;
delicate rings become thick bands.
You fall. So mottles skin around a cut.
Here's the ambulance; sirens blare.
Away you go when off it flies
across asphalt and forest fire sands.
You think yourself a fallen woman, a slut.
In your prime, back when you would dare
to be a thing the world despised.
Years of tears and bitter one night stands.
A trek to rotted Eden, your memory rut.
You struggle, made aware
that it wears a new disguise.
Eden has changed and
there's a devil in your garden. But
you've become the snake with longing stare
that has to be kept out, Oh King of Lies,
locked from passed-on lands.