Some love poems include vomit
This is a repost/revision of an old poem that still makes me smile. The "baby" in question is almost seven, but the sentiments remain the same.
Last night, after our baby vomited a shining milk fountain that splashed to the hardwood like a show we went back and forth with towels and thermometers taking turns holding him while the other mopped the floor. Last night, after baby’s eyes began to droop I watched him sleep, fearful of fever before tip-toeing back to the family room. We faced each other in the quiet dark the backdoor light gleaming through gauzy blinds and the swish-swash sound of the dishwasher splashing over us. I realized how cold I was. Last night, stranded together, baby’s light sleep keeping us out of our shared room I fell asleep on the couch as my husband held me thinking about how the difference between I’m cold and I’m warm between safety and harm was always his arms.
I've often thought that the power of the poem often lands at the end and so you could start your next one with "always his arms".
Ahh the strength of arms isn’t how much they can lift but how well they hold. Beautiful piece of art!