Beauty

The crescendo of creation,
the quintessence of 
clay conception 
It is good...
It is good…
It is very good…
Then was Eve. 
  
Eden halted, 
gasping to lasso the Ruach
fluttering towards 
the iridescence of Genesis. 
So pious in her 
irreverent captivation.  
  
While creation waxed, 
budding into its most robust 
contemplation of beauty.
Did the Father wane
brushing against the 
depravity to come?
  
Beauty who ate the fruit 
became beauty to be consumed. 
Enchantment cultivated 
from the terroir of Eden
fermented into 
lustful intoxication. 
  
This is why I weep for beauty. 
The tree that gives of 
her fruit, 
dying to herself. 

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