Eve & Adam

This is a reading of this poem because
this poem yearns to be read. Read me,
it whispers to girls passing with clay-pots
on their heads, bangles on wrists. Monica read it
to Bill, pausing between lines for this poem
to breathe, the way Camilla kissed Charles
with her tongue when this poem revealed itself
to her. This poem was barred from Poems
on the Underground as a result. What's
more, it is read by women whose husbands
have fallen to cancer, their voices trailing the lines
like sound behind light, or mechanical waves
chasing photons, or the sound of an airplane
you can no longer see. Our neighbour
kept singing this poem every day,
till the moon of her mind moved and left
her window, and she lay in the arms
of a gentleman's kindness again. Eve read it
to Adam on the eve of their ban. Suddenly
aware of the lock and key structure of pussy
and cock, he recited this poem back to her,
spat in his hand and rubbed her crotch,
and hand in hand they laughed and left
the garden by the main gates, kissing.