I never knew a woman named Eve.
Her eyes were black as chocolate, her
hair black as naphtha, her
skin the color of olives, her
lips not red but rich brown.
She is sleeping in every woman,
dark heart self-containing,
filled with secret knowledge:
What men want.
What women want.
What lack needs filling;
What excess needs release.
She is the dark heart of the gentlest blonde,
the soul that the lover sees behind the eye
like a naked woman at a window in a darkened room.
She is the dark mind of the kindest mother,
the spirit that the lover hears in the silence
that greets his fond babble, silence
imperiously sure of its dessert.
She is the dark will of the female child
suddenly aware that she is female and therefore
She is sans merci.
She must be obeyed.
She is the mantis
the male offers his head.
She is the black widow
whose answering penetration
gives the little death forever.
She is the tooth nursing the neck;
She is the mouth engulfing man's soul;
She is the cave he can only enter.
She is the price of love.
She is helpless before her power.
She is subject to her will.
She is the darkness
beneath the garment of skin.