God said Rick James, so Eve became 

her own exit, leaving petals

in the maze in case of rapture.

 

What was she thinking? It was hard 

to remember. Like everything else,

lust becomes inexact, buried 

 

in leather. There were no more seeds 

in wait, no drink in the well, no deceit 

of greater ascension. Rick James separated 

 

light from darkness, parted skies 

and knees–– genesised all over the place, 

arms snaked in gold.

 

When no one was around, the Lord forgave 

Eve her tresspasses. Go, God said to her,

onto the glitter and grind of them.