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by Karen Schwartz
As she suckles my tender breast
still aching from childbirth
I caress her soft skin with my finger
"How does it feel
to be cradled in the arms of love?"
Does the taste of sweet milk,
symbolic of the goodness I can offer,
remind her of safer times
while floating within my womb?
I watch as tiny droplets of liquid
drip from the creases of her smile.
"Gas", they say, but I know differently
as her adoring eyes look into mine.
I wonder, how does it feel
having her supple skin
stroked with a calloused finger,
hardened by years of wear
against softness so new.