Baby

You stick in the crevice, corner of my sight.

Have you been here all the time? Burning the backs of my eyelids?

Echo of a light; darling - oh! - child,

have you been standing in the doorway, waiting for your father,

rubbing your sleep-dust out.

Here, let me bathe you. And don't you come back, now! I say.

Private smile tugging just between us.

I know, I know.

You're the contour of a pearl in the damp flesh of the light,

like preciously parted lips leaning to a new lover.

Young crush flower. I fear that you'll fade;

that you'll rise into so many fragments up to the sky - or worse.

I fear that I'll turn around and forget - I so often do.

I know, I know.

I stop the thought there,

before my rumbling heart frightens you.

I make you sit before me and do your pretty hair.

I'll put a dress on you. Does that suit?

No, I mean the dress.

Here's something

for your teeth to crack on. Do brush them, after.

You're a music box; I wind you up and watch you twirl.

You're a cat; I lay you down and make you purr

until my unease curls back and falls asleep.

But all the time, I've made you in my mouth; worried you to a gleaming bead with my tongue.

When did you crawl into me and make me your mother?

Sometimes I fret so much you must notice the buzzing.

Sweetheart.

Listen to me. I wish I could scream.

I know, I know.

At last I let my breath over your temples, and you rest your chin in my cradling hands.

Thumb to cheek, lips to forehead,

until our skins melt and blend like butter.

I know, I know.

You're cracking now.

This is the knife, placed just at the ridge;

right here. I'll kiss the spot near the nose, beneath your brow.

I'm splitting peace and fear. Press.

Hold tight.

I know.