sweet baby love child

the joy of my world
lies in traces of white
lace flowing throughout
the channels of your
developing genesis;
lace not of fabric, but
of a womans will to
push reality into the
rear view mirror of her
lifes pains.
shes contaminating
the soil of a seed id be left
to sow with rusty tools leftover
from past gardeners whom
never were in full attendance
for the duration of
her crops harvesting.
bending over on hands
and knees depict the
tangible existence of
bodily pain and
thickly clad calluses
become rough bandages
placed over exposed wounds
to obscure bruises that
seep deep into hands of
mine used to reap
your soul.

recollections of nights
scattered with the image
of the dimly lit hallway
from my twin bed to your
crib is illuminated in
my mind for i cant
forget trudging out
of sleep to walk past dawn
following the path of your
pleas to be held,
watered,
nurtured.

my eyes screaming to be
closed;
your screams muffling
these.

in my arms i learned
to cradle once more,
your head resting in the
curved comfort of my neck
and shoulder.

time,
i
and
love
stood
still
as she persisted
to sleep out of life
and he was in a place
of confinement as punishment
for senseless violations.