There was rancour at the heart of the tree
nothing could sate its bitterness; obsessively it
watched others who had more of His attention.

Was it not he who nurtured the luscious secrets?
Was it not he who held the rings of wisdom?
In fury its roots claw the earth.

In the heat the snake silently wraps his coils;
a blink of his jewelled eye the only movement.
He is indolent and indifferent to events.

From the uppermost branches small birds compulsively
preen. Puffing themselves up, flapping their ostentatious
feathers; incessantly squawking and squabbling.

Far below the man thinks of nothing else, his eyes
are fixed upon her licking at her contours,
saliva trickling from a smirking mouth.

At night in the shadows he rocks himself
muttering licentious profanities, hoping to hide
his shame.

The woman lies naked, she is restless,
rapacious eyes scan the garden. Petulantly
she looks to the tree, esurience takes possession

she reaches up.