The flicker of your breath: life is so small
pulsing under butter-golden cheeks.
The final rays of evening light the wall
behind us. Minutes melt to years and weeks.
Tomorrow you will crawl, and in a blink
of brightly piercing drowsy-lidded eyes,
all that's done will be, and we must drink
of some new cup that will inevitably surprise
us all. For now, you guzzle from my breast,
voracious, craving every creamy drop,
grasping at my newly-shriveled skin.
Birth took its toll on both of us. We rest
curled together. Earth whirls like a top.
Your pulsing heart reminds me of its spin.
Dear Winn – 22 June 2017
16 hours ago