Robes torn, her side was shown,
glowing red, nearing dusk,
primal intentions were aloof,
her minds eye was on the creature that we derive,
from, always reaching for the sun;
never finding just what she wants,
her hand reaches out in lust.

The robe slides down,
frangible, tangible,
her hair covers just the tips now,
silhouetting and mystifying,
men fray from even trying,
but the luscious fruit is worth the stretch,
not that of hers but the ones they lacked,
so Adam and Eve succumbed and never looked back,
the sun of the primitive one would crash,
a title wave hit all consciousness,
they lay in knowledge, the fruit had been snatched.

She sits naked, a lioness,
golden hair streaming in the wind,
lips plump, made of crimson,
wanting to trust,
but now she had her pride to defend;
knowedlge also brought shame,
good and evil begin:
in a bag of conceptions,
tied to a rock, thrown in humankind,
insofar as to drown them,
as it does feeble minds.
I rhyme, knowledge is power—
a word to the wise,
that and be humble,
and then man may survive.