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A Mother's Happy Cries
You daughter stirs as I enter you.
She chirps her imagined story
for an audience of dolls in the next room.
Her sweet voice fills our room as the
same sunlight waking her
paints your breasts with a glow.
I see pride in your eyes as we find our rhythm,
remembering what you have made.
I relax into your warm center and imagine her birth.
“You are beautiful,” I whisper, and you smile.
My head spins with the mix of your baby’s voice
accompanied by her mother’s happy cries.
She chirps her imagined story
for an audience of dolls in the next room.
Her sweet voice fills our room as the
same sunlight waking her
paints your breasts with a glow.
I see pride in your eyes as we find our rhythm,
remembering what you have made.
I relax into your warm center and imagine her birth.
“You are beautiful,” I whisper, and you smile.
My head spins with the mix of your baby’s voice
accompanied by her mother’s happy cries.
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