Wisps of blonde and red hair
And hands that smell like "kid"
Caress my side and breasts

Little heads wallow and make
Their nest atop my heavy breast-pillows
Made 'specially for such and occasion as this

The feeling of skin
Baby's and Mom's
Both together having the most inherent need
Of humankind met

Touch

Perhaps that's why i wear skirts and
Go cloth-less any opportunity i get
To feel my legs touch each other
And to see and touch my breasts
As my arms graze by
In their back and forth movements
In my daily tasks as a woman and mother
Of the house