I ate it boy, and gave it to you
I noticed yourself before you did.
Miraculous; this moment
The promise of something great
In an external organ
softened from lack of boiling tension.
Not engorged and glistening
Like the sudden picture in my head,
or the apple in your hand.
The garden is lost
We are no longer kings and queens
Now I'm bleeding, boy.
I'm bleeding babies and un-used wombs
And new muscles cling beneath your skin
to harvest, to be harvested.
God, by peforming this experiment
I can see you've got a Schadenfreude complex
We are your painful emotionals, sad mortals
born to discover the meaning of meaning.
