Notice how the snake did not appear in the garden
until the woman did.

The man was the king of it all, 
but the woman, she was queen over him

and when the snake spied her from a far off high branch
—lashes stirring the green light of the forest floor,

skin blank and perfect, unbitten apples of her cheeks
eyes dripping with the rays of all the whirling stars and planets

hips, which set rhythms for the heartbeat
capable of opening as wide as love

voice like a sturdy velvet rope, which slipped out of lips dark as rot
(even the snake found himself tugged by it)

she was emerald and deep as the sea, the crowning jewel of every inspired thing—

he saw that she held all the power
in the world

and so after her he slithered.