Eden Unearthed

The apple fell to earth. It was bitten through it rolled; mossy soil coated the tooth-cleaved part. Already grubs were working their way out of the pith creating a teeming mulch. Adam had fallen asleep yet again. the overripe grapes fermenting in his guts turning to drunken snores. It was the flood of the moon. Eve squatted behind a mulberry bush wishing she were more fair and slim like the angels in her dreams. Her body was changing, tidal rains washed her blood and that travail begot spawning buds, the tillage of arousal. The apple was changing, dissolution morphing into beauty; the earth had gone into labor. This had not happened in paradise before, this was self-regeneration, death, and life, the copulation of dirt with air. Eve’s belly swelled, growing as round and burnished as an autumn apple. Instinctively Adam built a nest of straw, green shoots and saliva. She grew large, gravid, and snappish, stamping her feet impatiently; this birth would be a paradigm of progeny to come, a dewy innominate offering quilted from angelic and demon seeds and she knew not what to call it.