now look at me
my friend my love
i am a broken shell
egg yolk spilled
on the plate ready
for your frying.
it is the breaking
that gives me the sense
of freedom
now i am free
i surrender to be
eaten at your
breakfast table
i wish you were alone
in the loneliness of
your own morning
when you slice me
into bits of fine pieces
into the mouth of your
pleasures.
do not tell me about love
i am but an egg shell
cheap, and all markets have
me taken for granted.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem