By the third one
She was numb.
Too many tangled,
“no, I don’t really love you’s”
caught up in her dreams.
Erotic arousal brings
visions of
dismemberment
little feet and hands
that would never hold
a mother’s heart.
Heart?
What is heart?
Eggs sizzle
in the pan
where once a soft,
moist kiss
bespoke of moments
lost.
“No, I did not love him.”
Safer not to love
‘till dismembered babies
enter the picture.
A saxophone somewhere
far off plays...
Baby, take my heart.
Baby, take my hand.
take me to the arcade
Baby make them eggs stop
sizzlin’ --
Make that pinball whirl end,
the arcade lights go dim,
Make this menstral trail
fill once again with life,
set aside the ache of life spent,
life lost,
Life -- that egg that sizzles,
never hatched.
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