A dimpled little hand,
Lain atop my skin as if our bodies are still connected,
The warmth we generate is enough to coax the beginnings of sleep.
Deep breaths, and resting limbs, eyes that gently close. The inimitable comfort of falling asleep here.
The gentle rhythm of life, heart that beats inside my arms, what wonder there is in this glorious babe.
I touch that dimpled little hand,
As my lids grow heavy, my heart light,
Anchored in this fine embrace.
I can't guide your conscience I can't help you choose I don't want to talk about how this is sure to see my life improve I can't hear about it I'm sick to death of it Just... don't suggest I'm not in
The sky is clear at 5am It's not really 5am yet, Still actually 4:08am Daylight savings only began in the past 48 hours, It doesn't count The sky is clear, inky, luminescent and deep and like a silky
I woke before the sun rose today, my heart felt the intense weight of all the moments that the 25th of April marks, before my body had even begun to stir. For all the Blakfellas who were sent to fig