gone Eden

we are always falling

to find walking
to find flying
we fall, over and over
before the fall was never absolution
only proceeding falls, falling space into land, falling oceans into drought 

falling mothers the pink flesh of roses,
begs unknowing the purple turn of bruising

there was no plump perfect, before was
chaos desire, reaching in its own emptiness, infinite splitting its seams 

we press the past like it is our only bed of fresh nitrogen, knead hope inside memory like it is our only taste of it 
but the mouth of our yearning lives ahead, hidden not where we can’t return but draping our smallest, most malleable right now