Egg

The sun, hot and sweet, dripping

runny yellow into the creases of my fingers, yolk

boiling up into our faces, mouths —

stinging skin, burning hair.

eyes squeezed shut, we laugh anyway.

The kitchen smells like thyme

and the rosemary you brought in

from outside. Sunbeams

across the floor, egg yolk

on the ceiling. How did it get up there?

Stars outside the window,

sky pink and blue and white

just outside the door. Eggs in the pan,

frying, sizzling, blue flame beneath sputtering

and you are warm against my shoulder, your hair in my mouth

sweaty from dancing in the rain, skin singing

in the warm sunny side up

that's become us.

You aren't mine, but I love you all the same. You are cool summer nights and warm dry skin on mine. I love you.

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Stygian Blue's Other Works
Entries	Symbols of Reverie • Nowhere Express • Changelings, You and I • Antlers • It Always Rains • In the Forest Dying, a Fen is Born • Hummingbirds • The Old Must Not End • To Look Up in a Forest of Giants • Anatomy of a Swingset • The Sea of Styx • With Highway Brushfires Like Golden Grain • Ash and Pomegranate Trees • Of Oranges Like Sunset • Bloated and Stroked by the Tide •
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