Cliterature

Stephanie Motz

It’s about Eve

 

She bit his apple

and the juice

drizzled down her chin,

made a twisting

path across

the expanse of neck

hidden by

dark messied ringlets.

I mean                        tasted it,

took the whole width

of it inside her mouth.

 

Juice amassed

in an un-mined gem

burst—tart

across her tongue.