I lie on my bed,  in a dark room 

staring at the windows. 

The flapping sounds of the curtain draped down the window panes, 

the monotonous creaking of the old ceiling fan, 

like an unfinished lullaby sung by mother to make her sapling feel cosy. 

My eyelids drooping to the smell of the dark woods of the room. 

I felt the tingles down my neck and 

the strokes of the little pink arms across my cheeks. 

 I could feel the brimming crest on my sore and week body, 

dripping down was the drink for my infant. 

I clasped his soft head close to my bosom, 

feeling a warmth around my body. 

 He reached for my nipples and again stroke my cheeks 

 perhaps a gesture of content 

As I watched him lying next to me , clad in soft clothes

for the first time I believed in selfless love