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
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.