Of soap and sand

it was a stolen moment, a little quiet hiding tucked into the busy of day, those little ones for once just playing together in their room uncaring where we were. we simply lay on covers still unmade from last night and wondered at the simplicity of aloneness, this private cocoon. he grounds me in this nest of arms, and my restless feet statically and rhythmically keep time against his calves. inside the growing one kicks through my belly to his belly, we laughed. he is long and solid like history, and i'm all curves and plump softness (except that tight globe i love so much), and i'm the one leaning on him. i've always been this way. i told him how he makes all of us--three busy boys and even furry loves--feel as if we were the center of his universe. he shrugged; he's always been this way. avery clambers in, finally missing presence, and he reaches over me to grab him up. long brown curls mimic his smile as daddy holds him high and mama snuggles close. shea comes in to tattle, and connor comes in all loud-boy-noise-machine, and the bubble of first-couple is broken just that easily. but like soap, there will always be residue, the tickle of memory from unexpected oasis. so we heave off bed with laughing tickles, our sand in the desert swallowing footprints of the day.

linking with emily and other broken poets along the way