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Corpus Amor

4 Feb

She climbs into my lap and reaches for my under-chin. Chubby fingers, sticky from unknowns, prod the softness, demand all of me. My arm winds around her waist, chubbiness stacked on chubbiness, firm, plump, with all the resilience of the Fearsome Fours. Our heads meet, mine crowned with sleekness, hers buoyant with curls, and we breathe the breath we once shared, tucked away in primal spaces, in a bubble that was fiercely ours. “I laau you, Mamma,” she murmurs into my folds, “and Mamma loves Baby,” I croon back. And all around us, the universe echoes, the rocking, the touching, the exhaling of need, for surely no mother and child, and every single one, mirror these crannies between us.