Potest Ovum

Am I doomed to wander in-between

the passage of a single moment

stretched out indefinitely?

I, the potest ovum, a fusion of you and the other

who exists in name and little else,

would like to know the answer to this

before the final sands have dropped.

In this slice of time we’ve shared together,

I find myself reverse engineering the face and form

that gazes out of the mirror at me.

Am I an amalgamation of all your finest parts?

Or am I simply pieced together of all that was left

of the wreckage of who you were to one another,

a union that was finished before the very start?

All I know is that something crucial is missing

a thing that has no name or form, simply meaning.

From which one of you does it spring from,

and why in me

has it yet to manifest completely?

I, the potest ovum, a mere collection of cells and ganglia

would like to find the origin of this missing spark

that would give my existence validation,

if only to myself, rather than to you and the faceless other.