Run From Paradise, or a Russian Bride Story

You close your tired eyes
Clinging secretely to your dreams
And memories
Better than reality certainly
Blaming me for the future
Loving me for the past
Painfully
You watch me run from paradise
Having stolen all the fruit
Of your imagination
Left you with empty dangling branches
Of your apple-trees
The more I ate the less it tasted
But you wouln't mind
Would keep me in the paradise still
Estimating the threat of my overeating
Alas you no longer can
Peep at my nakedness
Encouraging that heavenly state of yours
Now you hate me for the truth
That being a serious
Psychological disorder you prefer not to see
Conscientiously
You keep studying your Russian
To perfect your demagogue skills
In advertising the advantages
Of being a god's bride
In front of another easy unknowing
Female with brains and ambition
And a nice butt most importantly
If suddenly
Bits of pride still left
Would make her bid you farewell
Father
You would charge for the stay
An extra-pay indeed for the redemption
You will not forgive my theft
And I don't think I owe you anything
Your Eden would bloom
Rather soon I guess
As you are so good
At gardening
Less at judging