I am woman. You are man.
Though I am not Eve nor are you Adam.
The deceit lies on the tip of a tongue's vacant truth,
Sharing the DNA in our imaginary seeds
Spread across the sacred garden of an infatuated mind.
A mute conversation with glances across sanitized tables,
The stench of formaldehyde grows on me as eyes move from punctured organs to a Latin tattoo on mocha skin,
The serpent spews an insincere apology.
Chestnuts sensually into mahoganies,
Colors of sweet words and soft touches paint fictitious futures and impossible destinations.
2 hearts and empty bowls,
1 falling with empty shot glasses,
attempting to tape the fragments together so every gentle caress fails to be associated with a face monogamous to the Sun.
The cracks are still visible, shattered pieces still divided as they hit the floor along side shards of broken dignity;
And as much as lies slither out the lips so knee-weakening and
Chesnuts say "property of not yours",
These mahgonies read "property of his but I want you".
So ... Full of immaturity,
We jest, attempting to escape reality
Hiding away from a bully named Honesty