Pink Fairy Tale Bedroom

In that moment, the first of firsts,
We pressed into sacred spaces
Where life whispers its tender beginnings.
 
A bedroom steeped in pink fairy tales,
Was decorated by hopeful hands before her birth,
Now she, in frantic embrace, takes my novice thrusts,
Clutching me with the earnest innocence of a child.
 
Her nails tell the story of a mother’s love,
Digging into my back as she whimpers a simple, “Yes.”  
Did her mother, in strokes of polished precision,
Imagine the pleasure her daughter’s hands would share?  
 
Silence wrapped us in a sacred shroud,
As we danced instinctive choreography scripted by creation.
My searching eyes came to rest on letters  
painted by her father at her birth.  
They read, "Live, Laugh, Love beyond words."