a poem a day for a year #91

by Amy Turn Sharp


the baby slept on me today
sofa Saturday slumber
motherhood wrecked from recreating the 90's in a bar Friday night
baby wrecked from wild energy morning fuel
we both found solace
under a tent of movie light flickers
beneath a hundred year old quilt
the rest of the house buzzed and hummed like a factory
I stole kisses in between sleep
obsessed with his soft scent neck
open to me
head leaning back into dreams
tiny nibbles
small bites
like a vampire
I could not resist
he smiled in his sleep
he laughed out love