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Surely she felt
simmering desire,
the strong sting of must
as she eyed the tree,
its branches weighted
with almost heart-shaped fruit;
their shining skins, bold reds,
denied her by the Supreme pronouncement.
The lust for one single bite
lit a fire in her
that ate her sleep, food, drink.
She became a hunger,
an appetite infinitely more appealing
than unending happiness.
She longed to taste the succulent flesh
beneath the glistening skin,
to know being.
Her heart ached for the new
as she dared
reach her arm, open her hand,
bare her teeth.
Mildred Taylor
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