Anyone who has ever kissed a babies brow knows …
Night has pressed her hand to your eyes. Deep in stories written by moonlight, you
fly dragons over magic rivers and lead clone armies through the red dust of Mars.
I follow your brows, lashes, these long limbs – they are the lines of your biography.
Hands that build Lego tales and castles, draw warbirds, roll out sixteenth triplets;
these hands feel older now. Who will they lead? Who will they hold? I’m watching you
outgrow this bed but you refuse to outgrow the smell of your mother’s skin. You bury
your face in my shirt and come up sated, remembering the milk and my heartbeat.
When you are my heart.
There’s so much you want to know and I don’t have the answers, things for astronomers
and professors to tell. And you didn’t know I kissed you tonight and a thousand times
past and will kiss you through all…
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