Somewhere between remembering and not really giving a fuck.

I saw her eat the apple from the Tree of Knowledge,
convulsing and blushing beneath a canopy of naked adulation,
the eyes of the world upon her,
for hers were the only breasts within several centuries.
And her hands were upon her,
clutching at passion,
shielding her elements from the elements.

I saw her crying by the,
the,
that river. What was it called?
That's right,
Ameles Potamos.
And I can see my childhood in the current,
snagging on a rock and twisting wildly in the underwater gale,
as it were some sexy laundry to be aired in public,
or however that saying goes.

She was the Kore,
the chambers of the Heart,
be they wombs encased in hard crimson flesh,
or that ventricular and atrial orchestra that I can hear when I'm trying to sleep after a long day of pondering the void.

And Persephone is now her name,
and she is totally beneath me,
now patrolling her realm of the banging undead,
although how she got there is entirely beyond me.
And I can hear only whispers now,
of violation and sin.

As they rape you, sweet Persephone,
and steal your heart away,
do not cry for your dire tale,
this all happened such a long time ago.