The New Mother

...the first touch
on my waist or back;
when they bite my lip
and pull me flush.

Now? I just flush
formula,
wipe vomit
and make ends
meet.

Sometimes
the baby is fussing, 
and burrows into my neck;
soft nibbles, wet breath
becomes
(dare I say?)
a gentle caress.

Memories? Where are you?
When was I not
mother?
When did this body serve
only my desire-

Now I nurture;
swaddle or swallow
milk,
but always knowing
how he came into
being.

Just who I am
still,
a lover of lustful liasions,
out of control,
tug and sweat under blue moon
but-

those moons passed, and my hips housed
a different longing
that in Spring did indeed
spring forth.
And now,
he's awake.