Thrall to Eve

Her scent slithers up the vine–
a bouquet of berries fully ripe–
sweetness spliced with an ounce of spice–
sleeping serpents wake and rise.

Her smile struts without a shame–
a bouquet of roses lace her frame–
below the petals hide her thorns
pricking serpents out untamed.

Her sweetness thaws with warm embrace–
Eden shines within her blooming face.
Her spice stings the mouth, the eyes, the disbelief–
accentuates the aftertaste.

Temptation waits, but forbidden fruit
is worth the thorns though they will bruise–
though they will cause a fatal wound
that bleeds the dust and salts the roots–
burns the bridge between two best friends–
even causing the world to end.
Eden would be no garden without spilt seed–
Adam would be no man without Eve.

Critique

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