gardia of eden

at the mercy of the elements, my chest grows heavy. there is so much i cannot swallow. my stomach contracts, my eyes expand.

in a sterile room she takes my pulse. explains her concerns for my health. i argue the case for consumption, that I'm recovering from a fall from grace. of those who partook in those heady days, is there been one who has not been struck down?

abandoning ingestion, my appetite is perverted. i sweat through blackouts with rising fevers, thirsting for briney bodies and tropical fruits.

in the whitewashed room we agree
that i am exhausted.

i do not detail why.