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Here in the kindling blue of dawn
I wake to find the stowaways of night:
my girl, and my boy,
feathered into my bed.
Their bodies warm and curl with mine.
     My breathing seeks their fragrance
and in it I find the sweetness of my bearings.
My lips grace the silk of their skin
to kiss the taste of innocence.
     Only her small hands will wake to this
winged rustling
and her fingers will sleep-stumble to my face,
find my ear,
and fetish its soft odd shape.
     He would slumber into the blaring gold
of morning, if he could,
but once his eyes drink the light
he will leap into the day.

Ah, but for now, there is only
this chocolate moment
the melting pleasure of mothering
and this heart,
swollen with milk.


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