Your thumbs run up my smile lines,
your palms span ‘cross my cheeks.
Your cries fade into hiccups,
your breaths turn even and deep.
The heat of your hands speak ‘love’ to me,
as they tightly hug my face.
The heat of my cheeks speak ‘safe’ to you,
that I’ll never leave this place.
At an age when you insist
on doing so much alone,
I relish the times you realize
you aren’t yet fully grown.
———————–
This post is also a contribution to Finer Things Friday
So beautiful, Beth. And insightful.
That is just beautiful. I can almost feel my own kiddo’s chubby hands on my face. 🙂
Love that poem- what a perfect insight into their little minds!
Love it! 😀