PoetryofPassion

A perfect world, infinitely young and bright, luxuriantly colorful and radiant,

Reveling in the vigor of its youth.

Teeming with life, the cool river lapping at my feet shimmers as I reach up and pluck

The fresh fruit of my fancy.

Leviathan, at my behest, rears his mighty head from the deep, bellowing with delight as

My fruit arcs toward his great maw.

Sensing a feline presence, I reach for the wildcat as he brushes by...

And I am alone

Again.

I lie down, eyes scanning the cyan shield overhead.

Ferns tower above me, reaching out to their Maker, and I, my hands

Likewise extended, yearn for something I have not yet beheld,

That which I cannot conceive...

What? My Maker is here, and I being lulled... to sleep...

I would leap up, only to fall prostrate - in worship,

But, hush now rather ...

Eyelids flickering, I squint at the rays of a new sun...

“Adam! Adam!”

“My Lord and my God, what stands before me thus?”

Reaching out to touch - a hand so like mine,

But tender.

What form glistens so with the early morning dew?

So like mine, yet so different, responding ,

“Adam!”

“Behold your wife, your companion ...”

Altogether lovely, her curves flowing, like the bends of the river seen from the

Tallest tree, her skin smooth and supple - enticingly warm...

My awakening soul is gripped, strangely,

Leaping like a prancing deer...

What heat flushes me thus?

Embracing, we drift in a breeze of unsullied passion.

“Come away my lovely and see my habitation, for you are truly

Bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh ...”

Tumbling earthward, we inhale the heady fragrance of valley blooms,

Whilst above, some lone eagle soars...

Higher and higher he climbs, and then -

The joy of freedom -

He screams.