Our Garden, Love!

She ate purple cherries, and flared a flute. I offered dates; and
She blushed. This feeling—a martini; and this height—a
Resurrection. “I mean not to thump Bibles, my love: Are you
Wisdom.”  We laughed the mystic; and danced the paradox.
Her heart, mango-peach: her taste guava. And yes, we kissed.
But nevertheless, the art was aqua, a grayish blue. We smiled—
A tulip; and cried a rose. Her soul, a raspberry pink: I partook
The pain. We nibbled—strawberry figs. The garden, an
Orange-brown; and passion trees, a thousand plums. We ate—
A pear, and necked the wind. Such lavender breast—a beating
Heart. We gripped the mud, and flung the rocks. So much—our
Spirits: alive the flame. But such as fate: the snake of fruit. We
Opted knowledge, athirst—to see. Our light and soul, a tenet
Curse; and thus, the earth, the drench of blood.