Is the Hunger for the Forbidden Fruit Ever Satisfied, Even When Consumed?

In the garden where we played, 
where the apple trees grew thick and twisted, 
where the grass rose up like a sea of green, 
you ran barefoot, your laughter 
a melody that echoed among the leaves.
I’d watch you climb, reaching for the forbidden fruit,
your hands brushing against the branches
as if you belonged to them,
like Eve in a world untouched by sin. 
The sunlight filtered through the canopy, 
casting dappled shadows on your skin,
the light and darkness mingled like serpents coiled among the roots. 

You’d take a bite from the apple, 
the crisp church filling the air,
the juice dripping like ambrosia,
and I’d think, I want to taste it, 
to feel the sweetness of it on my lips, 
as if consuming you could keep me whole. 
Each time you laughed, I saw the glimmer of something ancient, 
like the burning bush that Moses saw, a fire that never burned out, 
a voice that spoke without words. 

Your laughter was my scripture,
your smile, my prophecy,
and I couldn’t help but follow you, 
drawn by the gravity of your presence,
a longing that grew teeth, 
like the branches above us, 
twisting, reaching, grasping for something unseen. 

I’d stand in the shadows, 
feeling the hunger rise, 
a craving that felt like a curse,
like the mark of Cain upon my soul.
To hold you, to take you in,
to feast on every word, 
to drink in every glance-
I wanted it all, as if I could absorb
your essence, your spirit, 
like manna from heaven, 
like the water Moses struck from the rock.

We were just children, 
but I felt the weight of eternity in that garden, 
the sense that if I could consume you, 
take you into me,
I’d never be alone again,
never feel the emptiness 
that came with the knowledge of good and evil.

Your voice was a song,
and I was the prodigal, 
returning again and again, 
hoping to find my way back to you. 
You’d climb higher,
the tree bending with your weight,
and I’d think,
if I could just hold you,
if I could just bring you down,
I’d be complete,
like Adam with his rib returned,
like the lost sheep back in the fold.

But the garden was vast,
and the serpent whispered in my ear, 
the vines closing in,
temptation itself.
I couldn’t help but follow, 
my own path weaving through the garden, 
knowing that even if I tasted you, 
It might never be enough,
that some things, 
once consumed, 
could never be whole again.