Eve

the flower of Orient sits tight
immortalized in
Remington's
entrails
as it tells the tale of a mother
under snowing skies of summer
& fades & shelters her monks
like snails

the flower of Orient looks back
to see her eyes form patterns
on the minaret's
tortuous
shrouds
reads under the leafy
vegetable
fabric
reads well above
her lover's
white
lair

soon comes across some sacred
text
& moves it
wraps it up
gently...

so the flower of Orient reads
age-old Braille
of a Prophet

delivers
predicts
& composes
a new
&
sour
Eve
for the times