I guess molded image of deity,
shameless nakedness on two legs,
scampering in mine garden.

He slithers in the orange grove,
fending prickles with scales;
tongue kissing my pure air,
his eyes seemingly derisive,
tempting me with the ripe fruit.

I sense him touch my pointed pome,
lone finger prodding through the foliage;
his mouth open with foretaste,
licking dew off the pink bean,
as he climbs my smooth stems.

Copyright ©2008  Lameck M Arika  

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