With a grin,
he locks eyes
and utters, in quick succession, little coughs;
clearing his throat perhaps,
requesting dinner,
thrilled.
Mouth gaping,
nose nuzzling,
he seeks.
I guide,
shoulders hunched,
neck bowed.
We pause.
His floppy ear tickling my palm,
my fingertips sensing
downy fuzz
first bending, then brushing,
my hand cradling the warmth of his tiny head.
A momentary meditation, and
my milk flows
in satisfying gulps.
I breathe him in, and
by design,
hormones engulf me
entirely.
