Writing 201: finger – prose poem – assonance

No words just the poem…

Sweet touch

Their first sweet touch against my breast transforms me. Warmed silk could surely not feel finer. You fingers linger, exploring this new sensibility. Soft and pink their searching touch grasping. Perfectly formed in their vulnerability. Delicately, knowingly seeking comfort.

Your first moments of deliverance. Released from the embrace of a warm, moist swaddling cocoon. To no longer float through your own inner peace. Released into an endless open expanse; a yet to be explored new world. Seeking to be embraced again. Searching out a new swaddling cocoon.

I look down lovingly, longingly at you. Take in the first sweet touch of your fingers on my breast. Your cheek at rest pressed against me. Sweet serenity on your face. The smell of your existence taking over my senses. Beauty in all your form; unspoiled and pure. And then you take your first taste of my breast.

In this moment; caught. There is naught but love for you. My sweet child.


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