The Death of Immortality

Under sycamore trees you fed me grapes,
made me whisper over and over that I wanted you.
I knew the loneliness of your creation never left,
the feeling that one day I would not be enough,
just like the rest.
But under that sycamore tree I was perfect and tomorrow was today.
And you fed me grapes as you webbed a future that was our present.

And now,
we are dead again;
ours was a mark of indelible mortality,
the chasm that formed between heaven and earth.
Tell me how then,
that it wasn’t I who bit the apple,
but you who let a snake steal my universe.