Ovum
M
Mark R Slaughter
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As I view the egg that rests
Inside your head,
I catch the camouflage,
Marvel at the riddling colour –
Splashed, blotched –
How so? –
And oft my eyes adored you
Through that ovum,
Cranium holding oddities of thought
That sparkled blues;
And then I drift down towards
The fleshy, alien-like apparatus assembled there –
As if through randomness –
That constitutes the area
Between your legs.
The sight stared back
Stoically,
As if to say:
‘There are no metrics in the act –
Not if you, the man, would clear
Familiarity, and
Make her come through expectation, anticipation.’
My eyes drift upwards, returning to the shell –
It seemed to render her skull translucent.
Perhaps it was her brain.
Perhaps I need to make her come through a wish.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2013
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