Sweet egg, reposing upon the nut-brown toast
(Whose charred black robe was shed in my sink of white),
You are my gustatory Song of Songs,
You are my visual 8:00 a.m. delight!
Relaxed, serene on your carbohydrate couch,
Your round breast rises above your white frilled skirt
And tempts me . . . I stab its smooth and tender skin
And watch your molten gold, your heart's blood, squirt. . .
At last you're mine! No one will steal you now!!
(Yet consternation clouds a bit my bliss. . .
How can I ever gather you to myself
When you are trickling over the plate like this?
Oh lovely, murdered egg, which, but for me
Might yet have been a chick, I have a yen
To know how aught as exquisite as thee,
Could come from Min, our dour speckled hen!
MADELINE SLADE.
(Whose charred black robe was shed in my sink of white),
You are my gustatory Song of Songs,
You are my visual 8:00 a.m. delight!
Relaxed, serene on your carbohydrate couch,
Your round breast rises above your white frilled skirt
And tempts me . . . I stab its smooth and tender skin
And watch your molten gold, your heart's blood, squirt. . .
At last you're mine! No one will steal you now!!
(Yet consternation clouds a bit my bliss. . .
How can I ever gather you to myself
When you are trickling over the plate like this?
Oh lovely, murdered egg, which, but for me
Might yet have been a chick, I have a yen
To know how aught as exquisite as thee,
Could come from Min, our dour speckled hen!
MADELINE SLADE.
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