Like a girl, a baby running after her mother, begging to be picked up, and she tugs on her skirts, holding her back as she tries to hurry off—all tears, fawning up at her, till she takes her in her arms… That’s how you look, Patroclus, streaming live tears.
A little child born yesterday A thing on mother's milk and kisses fed.
Sensitive love letters are my specialty. 'Dear Baby, Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: you.'
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