Longing to touch the forbidden fruit,
banned by some higher power.
My Eve is the apple also,
as I, Adam, am the serpent.

To touch, the closeness would put her
farther beyond my reach.
An eternal ripeness overpowers her physical,
though even that is holier than serenity.
She brings, not wisdom as Eve did to Adam,
but sustainance; like apples, yet beyond apples.

Forbidden, so I wither, wilt, want.
If she is beyond my reach, i'll stand guard.
No false pretenders shall tresspass.

Then, at ther approach of the true Adam,
I flinch, hesitate, stand down.
Thus do I die,
but I smile.