Amelia
In the morning as I sit and watch you lay,
in what seems to be a playful bliss.
My attention is quickly taken by your milky white skin.
Caressed by lotions and perfumed by oil.
Forever young you have stayed.
And what seems to be angel dust, gleaming like fireflies in the sunlight
shines through the window and settles softly against the nape of your neck.
You move. Slightly so, but enough so what once covered your
lower back gently slips away.
As if undisturbed by time, your curvature would indicated the
absence of children.
You awake. With an inviting smile and a look familiar enough
not having to use words, I move in.....
in run the children.
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