the egg is still ticking
a secret in my hand
because this has been the always
we tore into reality
when we were birthed together here
covered in dream and colour
and I am homesick now
for the caves
we carved inside this world
to engineer universes
made of imagination and of light
and I wait like a widow
who expects no lover
to return
while you best like
how quickly ripe the fruit
of synthetic synergy
and all of it a desperation
to find those fluid worlds
where thought and creation
could stretch but not divide
like the days when we were hungry
but always fed
unlike this time
when we are fed
but our hungers go unfilled
and I look nothing like
the half the key that you forgot
you’d need to take us home
and I forget sometimes
that you are here at all
but it has always been
and so it will be still
when imagination can remember
the way we cocreate
infinitude in realms
we hide inside our hands