Scrambled Eggs


In my rocket by the sea—
He slept by my breast.
His fingers pressed my heart, my sand,
We couldn't wake up.

We could hear violins:
Creamed-colored, two-colored,
Our bare skin
Gift-wrapped, a couple of seeds—

Naked and irrigated as oceans,
So the sky smiles—
I envy his frigid housewife,
The scramble of eggs each morning—
  
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