this spotless glass is not the book of Adam.
the trinity you stole cuts like a knife.
to be uncrumpled is to be un-uncled —
un-uncled, i become the poet’s wife.

i am unhidden woman of the garden,
body un-ridden by the dust-bound word.
the queen of poet’s tongue, i lounge and lean
as music on my salivary throne.

the syllable you speak, my roundness is
her shapely immanence. our rectitude
is life of tree of life. so eat me, fallen
father of mankind, and know your foolishness.

speak again, brother, madly, as husband.
my honeyed bone un-spells your make-believe
kafir — he sees his wife sans négligee
who tastes the ripened fruit with naked eye.

(says ordinary woman made explicit,
who steals your spectacle to save your life.)

//

(original, telescopic)