Poetry extract from Belly

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As I hold you in the crook of my arm, in the deadened city morning,
the low hum of electricity is this grey pre dawns greeting song,
tiny man.

I observe the translucence of your skin,
a long blue vein,
flecks of gold in your sleep thickened lash,
a sea shell ear.

My hands are old under your tiny mitts,
soft as silken pockets and deep warm
your hand holds my finger,
as your tongue presses my nipple for milk.


Sarah Nicholson