If I order an egg bite
I get my own little fork
a disposable hand
that fits my right hand.
Reading its palm, now, as I sit here,
I see love in its future. And its present.
I love my little fork.
Focus. Focus. I'm not sitting around
waiting to see if
the egg-bite-delivery guy brings me
my little fork.
And then I have to go get one while my egg bite cools.
I mean: COME ON.
That's not
the life for me.
It’s an egg bite life, for you