I am woman. You are man.

Though I am not Eve nor are you Adam.

The deceit lies on the tip of a tongue's vacant truth,

Sharing the DNA in our imaginary seeds

Spread across the sacred garden of an infatuated mind.

A mute conversation with glances across sanitized tables,

The stench of formaldehyde grows on me as eyes move from punctured organs to a Latin tattoo on mocha skin,

The serpent spews an insincere apology.

Chestnuts sensually into mahoganies,

Colors of sweet words and soft touches paint fictitious futures and impossible destinations.

2 hearts and empty bowls,

1 falling with empty shot glasses,

attempting to tape the fragments together so every gentle caress fails to be associated with a face monogamous to the Sun.

The cracks are still visible, shattered pieces still divided as they hit the floor along side shards of broken dignity;

And as much as lies slither out the lips so knee-weakening and

Chesnuts say "property of not yours",

These mahgonies read "property of his but I want you".

So ... Full of immaturity,

We jest, attempting to escape reality 

Hiding away from a bully named Honesty