Inside, there's a frosted egg, as crystalline as hardened snow.
The egg is sweet, broken and gold and I can breathe when I watch.
She's alive inside, growing, unraveling, blossoming.
Fluttering into the darkest of places, bringing light to the cold corners of my body.
We cannot touch her,
We cannot taste her.
Forbidden ambrosia- she's warm and frozen.
As still as softest pieces of me, she sighs.
She's tired of my damp, lifeless vessel.
The egg hatches, fluttering the gold casings away.
Could I rejoice for what I don't comprehend?
Yami Tenshi
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fluttering/
