Elaborate Egg
©May 1997 by Sage

Note:  After my ex broke up with me, but before I moved out, I played around with "magnetic poetry" (words on magnetic strips on her refrigerator door) and worked in her garden as a kind of therapy.

I am an elaborate egg, not fluff. I ache, cry and scream, bloodied but not bitter.
The essential sweet puppy woman knifed the beauty moments away.
Still, all must be near the garden goddess to milk eternity.
A peach skinned mother and her breast is the summer sky.
Her delicate fingers are diamond rain.
She has a thousand petal moons watching over me.
She always whispers true shadows, but I ask why.
There is yet life drive, power and vision in me.
Love sleeps as I chant and let go into Light.