07/21/2025
The afternoon hush settles across the room,
light slicing gently through the blinds.
You are pressed to me—warm, breathing,
your legs and feet resting against the soft rise of my belly,
where once you floated in secret,
just beneath the surface of my skin.
Your breath is slow now,
sighing into my ribs,
and with every exhale,
I remember the rolls, the flutters,
those tiny underwater dances
that only I could feel.
Now your fingers curl
around the curve of my side,
as if tracing a memory
you never knew you made.
You sleep here,
and so do I,
not because the world is quiet,
but because you are,
and in your stillness,
I am returned
to the quiet hum of before.
No barrier of skin now—
only the weight of you
reminding me
that you were once carried within
and somehow,
you still are
and maybe even always were