a poem about Adam

there is stored force
in your hands running through
your fingers

it is erotic.

there are eight hills below
those sturdy hands
there is tiny circular pond
deprived of water

nearby is a forest with bushes
black and bereft of leaves

pygmy hair

you see a bone but you
rather call it a tree of life

it is so erotic

there are no clouds which are heavy
some drops of rain pour down

there is an explosion inside the mind
it is not yet on the month of July

it is so erotic
it is life.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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