Flesh Tones.

soaking in mother's
speak, at the sink
rushing years into
her womb again
where sex was my
 arrival;
and months later
gathered in cotton
arms, smoothing
the folds on new flesh
with lips curled for
caramel rounds of
her breast.
hands bathing away
fears of monsters
with fairytales and
forehead kisses;
covered for winter
in woolen arms
with small gloved hands
dancing in a curly tails
of dark hair seeking:
 her offered warmth.

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©Denise Angela Celeste, 1997