eden in her garden

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she has a name.


eden.


and this garden belongs to her.


more than to me, i guess.


why do most see only a snake? in the past, in the present and especially in the future. why can i see her so clearly in her perfection? am i doomed that way? her feathery, ebony hair and her mary magdelene face.


she is my grace.


misunderstood. with my own gift i can see how she will be misunderstood for centuries to come. i love her. maybe i can save her from herself. maybe she will love me enough to change her little annoying ways that i find so cheekily cute and others find utterly offensive. maybe i can redeem her in some way. i'm the one she confides in. she does not want to be like this, i know that. she does not say it, but i know, oh, i know. it must be hard being an enigmatic and perfect being and all powerful. so loved. so revered. that is why they are jealous. none can  do what she does. and she loves me. she loves me so much. not a single soul understands. nobody understands. i wonder whether he has guessed. and adam? the fool. men are fools. adam, the pushover. how can he ever understand the scope of her work to come? the goddess of the fairy tale... the stepmother, the werewolf, (what is the little bitch with the red hood thinking, anyway?) the witch, the clever queen. eden has work to do. (the one with the three pronged tongue - dear heaven, help me - has chosen her to perform for a very long time. he and adam think she is the big bad devil) ha! surprise, surprise...


i can't take my eyes off of her tongue when she speaks with that lisp. i hardly hear what she says at all because i think about the wonders of that deliciously forked tongue.


please fork me, tongue.


seasofme250316it'sallaboutme


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