THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Garden of Eden

i'm beseeching for your touch again,
and i do not know how to react to that anymore
because your peony-crammed lips used to devour me whole,
and mouthwatering honey was oozing from my lips
as your skin stringed to mine.

for i cannot shine,
or be your moon,
without your rays of sun penetrating my heart.

i yearn for your flames,
i want to be drenched in you
so you could crack me like an egg,
to burn in your arms
like putrid yolk—glutinous, loosened.

the other planets are gossiping about us,
especially mercury,
the green-eyed monster who envies our love—
and i do not blame her.

it's elusive.
and i’m so fucking tired of trying to pretend
that it’s there and it exists.

so let’s create our own cosmos—
where we have our own version of the garden of eden:
bare taped bodies & trees of aspire
& fruits of living & idyllic plants
to mark our parched souls
& vast gritty animals to escort us through
hell and paradise.

but just promise me—
for we are being watched—
do not bite any apples.

The Snake’s Trap

I am trapped in a cave,
and there is no way out.

My fingers claw clumsily into the rocks and walls—
crimson blood seeps from them,
as it does from my nose,
my mouth,
and the deepest parts of me.

Suddenly, I’m sticky.
And I can’t speak.

The only solution
is to slur out my tongue
and devour whatever remains—
the lies,
the bits,
the rough choices lodged in my throat—

like a wild snake,
vanished beneath the depths of our souls,
only slithering out
when it, too,
finally emerges.

ADEMINU is a Moroccan writer and first-year college student whose work explores identity, memory, and the small rituals of everyday life. They have experience in poetry, essays, and translation. They write from blood & ashes, where words pour out like a river of mistakes, memories, and whatever the heart can’t hold anymore.