Upon Looking at my Sleeping Daughter on her Five-month Birthday
My young dautgher lies sleeping--
firstfriut of my womb, bounty of
my breasts.
Her eye's fringed curtains are closed,
soft, curved, dark, like a wing
over the head of a resting bird.
Underneath are fantastic cheeks,
pink and sweet, like Gala apples.
Round, warm, kissable pink flesh.
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