As comforting as the soft warmth of a baby’s head
That I could feel your naked hair,
As comforting as the soft warmth of a baby’s head
Soft fingers like sweet, sweet accord
Brought on her spirit to a golden flower:
As comforting as the soft warmth of a baby’s head
We speak like other words at night,
The violate with violet, with wildflowers.
As comforting as the soft warmth of a baby’s head
Young April hushed the happy night
Before you passed, your lovely purple hair.
As comforting as the soft warmth of a baby’s head
Beside me, while I sang.
About the Creator
Aingeal Stone
My head is crammed full of stories so writing is a form of exorcism. I am a militant librarian and professional feminist. Everything is important and I take nothing seriously. I love mimosas and gin, my six dogs and my partner.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Aingeal Stone and writers in Poets and other communities.
For want of sleep
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. So, what’s the point? Why waste all that precious oxygen screaming when no one can hear it? I inhale deeply and let it out with an audible sigh, then I turn away from the window and walk back to my bunk.
By Aingeal Stone2 years ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.