You are faceless, and, for all practical purposes nameless.
I have never buried my nose into the top of your head, or the center of your chest, or into the crease of your hip and inhaled, deeply, your essence.
I have never run my fingers over the roughness of your hands, or traced the lines of your face.
I have never heard you breathe, or watch you sleep.
I have never fed you.
I have never heard your laugh, or felt you cry and kissed the wetness from your lashes.
I've never felt the softness of your flannel shirt against my bare skin, or anticipated the sound of your footsteps.
But I know you...
And I care...
I have never buried my nose into the top of your head, or the center of your chest, or into the crease of your hip and inhaled, deeply, your essence.
I have never run my fingers over the roughness of your hands, or traced the lines of your face.
I have never heard you breathe, or watch you sleep.
I have never fed you.
I have never heard your laugh, or felt you cry and kissed the wetness from your lashes.
I've never felt the softness of your flannel shirt against my bare skin, or anticipated the sound of your footsteps.
But I know you...
And I care...
© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll
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