I wonder,
silently to myself as you breathe,
if I ever even knew you,
and I called you Eve.
The garden from which I ate,
filled with lust, and sticky memories,
of huddled embraces and the dying sense of morality.
I would never tell you the truth,
because you never told me anything but bent, used lies,
sold from the second hand shop from which you bought,
my feelings and my thoughts.
Eve she was,
poisoning not herself,
but me.