Eden Earthed Over

The apple fell already bitten upon, a mossy soil coated where the tooth-cleaved. Soon grubs worked their way out of the pith creating a teeming mulch. Adam had fallen asleep again, in his gut overripe grapes fermented turning now to drunken snores. The apple was changing, morphing, the earth had gone into labor. This had not happened in paradise before, this was self-regeneration, the copulation of dirt with air. It was the flood of the moon; Eve squatted. Her body was changing, tidal rains washed her blood, travail begot a tillage of arousal. Her belly swelled, instinctively Adam built a nest of straw, green shoots and saliva. She grew large, gravid, a tad snappish. she sensed deep in her belly that this coming birth would be both sour and dewy, an innominate delivery for sure riddled with good and bad seeds, and she knew not what to call it.