You are heavier (having eaten),
pressing on my thighs, warming my womb from the outside;
not so long ago it was yours—warming you.
Your legs flailing, on either side, the constant rubbing
of love; bent over old soft paper you design your world.
The dark dense downy barbs on your head that always smell
a little bit of milk—acidic and sugary—
could tickle me for a lifetime.
A warm wind that belongs only to you
caresses my weatherworn fingertips as I break
your atmosphere to touch, ever so slightly,
your arm, your skin: velvet sleeve.
I remember it, warm and slippery
from the first time we touched,
the ferric smell of flesh and fresh life, and I still feel
the sweet ache of beings separate that were once whole.