Hush

baby-1251754

Affectionless, beetroot-red psychopath, you
thrash your balled fists and buttermilk feet
against me –
throaty guttural howl.
Tiny hurricane.

Our languages are different, and you will not listen, or
leave off tempests and tantrums – you pit yourself
against me –
gurning night wrecker.
Squalling knot.

My trifling pleas melt as flakes of ice in your hot breath, and
I feel the weight of you in my cradle arms as I clamp you
against me –
floral nightgown muffles
the bawl.

 

 

 

Author: ataraxicat

I am a 27-year-old Literature graduate and school teacher, based in the UK. I enjoy writing in my spare time. All characters and events are fictitious, probably mostly.

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