it is her(e) in the nest, this
                                                artificial uterus – in utero fetus thought, she
            eggs are lain, consider hatching, or possibly just
                        cracking, slightly. dried blood bead. flake and still. part.
in this nest, her(e)
            I sleep and listen to the ants crawl
            listen to the earth sliding beneath the clouds, the atmosphere, fibrous nitrogen
under a blanket,
                                    a body rolls.
listen to your own breath while you sleep. beside me.
                                                                  her(e). peach skin soft blanching body. loose.
I have found myself, just lately
selfishly stocking this artificial uterus with my eggs you are considering hatching
                                                                                    or possibly just
                                                cracking, slightly.  parting, a splitting sort of birth
                                                            stitches pulling ever so slightly from rumpled skin
                                                                                                            pucker, she
oxidizing inorganic compounds into
   slippery sweat blossoms, purple, spreading
                        her(e) lying beside me. a puddle expanding, foot splash step, lift. drip.
             I twitch restless and smell the water ripple
            sniff at the fluid peristalsis of sliding down the trachea of
                                    the chimaera, fingertips gently brushing
                                    the corner of scaled lips
                                                sliding into the exosphere. a calm fall.

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