With eyes closed I kiss my blue-eyed serpent. None of this is real.
Was it like this for Eve when when first tasting the bitter fruit of life?
Did she look him the eye as she took his gift?
Did she devour him with eyes averted?

I'm pressed against rough bricks in the dark, hair stinking of grease and despair.
My serpent kisses me gently. I clench my eyes tight shut in silent protest.
Looking past his shoulder, I bite down into his offering.
My serpent's cold comfort is blessed relief.

Eyes downcast I lie with my serpent in his dark, dark house.
I permit no endearments. Serpents don't deserve them.
I refuse to look into his empty eyes. He would matter if I did.
Getting attached to serpents is pointless.

I wallow in filth with my serpent. He is as beneath me as the first serpent was to Eve.
Serpents make good lovers when you don't look into their eyes.
Serpents have no souls. They can't love, can't hurt, can't grieve.
Love would be a waste. He wouldn't understand what I refuse to give.

We lie together apart, my serpent and I, in the darkness beneath the ground where eyes are blind.
Blind to things like love, hate and despair. Blind to things like rage, hopelessness and fear.
Why see what's in the eyes of my serpent when I cast him aside?
It is easier to walk away when you don't look them in the eye... and see tears reflecting back at you.