The third poem from my poetry collection Conception.

[More:]

Mother-to-be

Overnight a thousand spiders have spun their webs
around my body. They criss-cross my breasts,
climb up my thighs and along my waist:
a map of angry red contours
leading to a peak of wibble wobble jelly.
No polished egg-shell bump,
but a lumpy brown paper parcel.

Inside, a tiny piece of perfection awaits;
with sparkling sapphire eyes, ruby red lips and hair
like filigrees of gold. It floats luxuriously;
fingers fluttering opal nails, mother-of-pearl
ears poised, cheeks caressed by the kiss of rose quartz.

I should be the velvet-lined presentation box
jewellers use for diamonds and other precious rocks.