three days old

quicker to show

you need something,

you still bend in directions

besides preference.

not the emotion of a three year old,

but the emotions of three days.

wind

fans

helicopters

barking

creaking

shrieking

laughing

tears;

not only

yours.

for you

sitting is for awakening;

not only

yours.

slow sensations

with

predictable

sounds

soothe you.

milk is for

nourishment.

head covered,

clothes over ears

hands choosing

between cheeks and chests.

your cheeks;

my chest.

eye contact.

the stuff of intimacy

is the stuff of falling asleep

on someone’s body.

you want to see the face

and hear the sounds

you closed your eyes

holding loosely.

in one of two thousand

beginnings of life

the umbilical chord

becomes knotted.

we learned that

three days ago.

the stuff of intimacy

is the stuff of life.

in distress

gloriously

choosing

our entryways.

entry

is

intimate.