The Trouble with Creation 
Garden, pond,
man, woman,
worm
in the tequila,
salt licked
from the back
of his hand,
lemon squeezed
between bountiful
thighs, sunshine
on the tongue,
moonlight
on the water—
Come on in,
the water's
fine—
smoke in the belly,
apple in her eyes,
oh, forbidden
script, turn out
the lights,
pour us
another drink,
have some pie.

                          Meg Kearney