Pushed together, pulled apart, we were purported pluripotent.
We developed as an organ, a benign and beating heart.
We sought physicians for histology. Discovered spinal symmetry.
Within the sacred bowl of life, our innards spilled in red array.
I wondered what you’d have to say if in your mouth you grew a tongue.
I wondered what I’d have to say if in my head I grew a mouth.
Instead we moved into a house, connected by a modem.
A surgical removal could have cured us of our malady.
But seeking to remain benign, we discoursed through telepathy.
How long could we have lived like this?
With our then-rudimentary eyes we saw shapes coming toward us:
amorphous and black, shedding tears. We had nothing to say.