The bullet hits Harold Edgerton's red apple,
enters and leaves. On either side
the skin splays open in two chutes, one coming
one going, two white plumes of pulp particles
spread out like arms, the left hand
reaching for the escaped bullet.
His love of science destroys
the forbidden fruit.
They say now it is more likely that Eve
offered Adam a pomegranate, given the etymology
and Eden's presumed location.
Some science is allowed, it seems.
Or maybe it is just more beautiful to imagine her
handing him that perfectly imperfect fruit,
its thick skin and tender meat concealing
the abundant tiny seeds,
little drops of blood in the heart.
He could eat only one and sin enough.
Or maybe
Eve dried them when he wasn't looking,
ground them into a paste, spread it
over herself and asked him to lick.
His tongue on her body, the bittersweet
taste of salty skin mixing with seed-paste-
that is enough to damn us all.