absent, white hands gleaming dully in the dark
absinthe nepenthe, queen of Eden,
our lady of the lotus-eaters!
flush, the fruit, your cheek, rose-red
breath, your lips, and trickles red-violet,
half the seeds, open the box, strike the match, bite.
(I never knew why they called it original sin.)

they replaced you, Eve,
with their ****** Queen,
and oh! how they praised her red-gold hair,
immaculata, benissima, ave Maria,
and how sweet and high their voices in their chapels of crystal and gold
but how they gilded it all, oh Eve, how they did,
and how they gilded it all to cover
the searching memory of real gold
(who could they blame? cherchez la femme.)