Eve and the Pit

The wind had to do with the places we couldn’t touch.
The branches were the places we did,
lying at the roots
with your arms around me. We watched the birds
flock in — a cloud —
and settle. That was before migrating patterns,
the need to keep the sun at the tip
of the wing.
Knowing the body meant eating a piece
of fruit and throwing away the pit.
All around, the soft flesh …

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