you were never one to talk about
things not tritely pretty
you always preferred to float in your
blithely ignorant viscosity.
god forbid your spotless surface
be speckled by the truth
lest your runny core be exposed
as guileful and uncouth.
you say there’s no point talking
of the meeting of two seas
the White and the Yolk – as thick as the walls
between you and me.
boiling with rage, your insides stiffen
when time allows for rephrase
you choose to hide the shapeless reality
within your fragile embrace.
a play on the phrase ‘to walk on eggshells’.
some plentiful metaphors for you – eggscuse me if they’re too cheesy, i started off writing this as a yolk. yes, this part was eggscruciating to read on purpose.