Immaturity

It’s not when he needs to hold my hand –

It’s not when he must hold my hand –

It’s when he wants to hold my hand

that I feel blessed.

Perfect touch of will and skin,

an embrace out of desire and affection.

When he is urged towards me by some instinct,

by some unfathomable drive –

my son holds my entire soul in his tiny fist,

throbbing with joy, feeling safe, sheltered and well placed.

NaBloPoMo_November_small

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