Untitled (fool's cliché)

You’re putting all your eggs in one basket
You’ve really got a hold on me
You need something new
You feel like family

I’m about ten or so in, I guess;
the remaining ova being the most precious
their creamy shells not fully developed after some
slight but definite trauma the hen went through prior to
laying those which I have cached in hopes of preservation.

In reality
they are yours
but you don’t know that.

See -
I know how much you love fried eggs and
while I want to know I know better I’m just
not quite sure that this pork belly is enough and that you don't
need two fried eggs on top to make it complete.

Unless, of course, we’ve bought those eggs together
(gathered them someday, with fresh killed bacon on the side)
and I get to dip my barley in your yolk
dripping down my chin because I’m messy
and you kiss it off of me and say

delicious.

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