The two lines came up on the test-strip’s face;
there was no avoiding what it stated.
I’m pregnant! Now there is no hiding place;
Proof that with the Muse I’m conjugated.
She came to me one night; and while I slept
she filled me with her seeds, to my surprise.
By grace, into her womb I nimbly crept —
enraptured by the softness of her thighs.
From that time forth she made her place within
(or is it me in her? I cannot tell).
Last night she said “My love, I am your twin.
Together in your poetry we dwell”.
No need for testing strips to know it’s true.
I’m pregnant with her songs; from us they grew!
© Alan Morrison, 2016