blown egg

i break the shell with my own makeshift
egg tooth: a bent leg fork. 
have you ever had someone
put their lips to your ear
& blow? i have felt all my yolk 
mix with my veil. a bleeding daylight.
washing my hands over
& over in the bathroom. i counted down
from one hundred while he did
his blender speaking. i walked with him
as far as the land knew how to carry us.
we grew children beneath the dirt.
already roots. ghost carrots & leeks.
the shell, like a windchime house.
never enough light
to see the moon's evil twin. i try
so many times to tell him
what he is doing to me & instead
all that comes out is guts. my guts.
he strokes my head. braids my hair
& chops it off with a butcher knife.
eats it. fish tail. frog house.
i am trying to find someone to believe me
when i say there was a little chicken
in my head once. i loved him & now 
all his gold is in the sink & my lover
is promising me i have always been 
this hollow. he carries the feathers
of a million birds to my door.
knocks until the house comes apart.
this is why i empty every egg i find.
lips to the skull. blowing until
i see fairy dust in my vision. 
close one eye & peer through the hole.
it gives me a tiny motion picture.
there is a boy but he is just
an outline. there is nothing at all inside
but a flock of lips. they mutter,
each a fresh instruction.
i crush the egg in my hands only once
it is vacant. it feels like cracking open
my own skull. i had hoped 
something, anything, would escape. 
he makes the world's biggest omelet
& i watch him devour each bite.