It is 1 a.m.
and you are draped across my body –
the potency of your soap
spreading across my skin.

Sleep is pounding in my skull,
but mutual lust is dripping –
a slow leak
down to my leopard print high heels.

Creative Commons
Creative Commons

Your mouth is pressed against my breast
and I gasp,
head thrown to the side of the bed
and our tiny room is tossed into a prism’s light,

the luminary lighting his small face in the crib
making dark eyes beam hazel
and so I slide out from beneath you.
He is crying and I take him from his bed.

I wrap him in my arms and
sidle down into the bed with him.
He is groping at my breast,
and it is 1 am

and he is draped across my body –
the smell of lavender in his hair
it’s a complete 180
and I’m spinning from woman

to mother
from desire, to nurture
from you to him.
It is 1 a.m.

and I am the light
cut from the prism’s heart.
I am one and all,
wife and mother

in leopard high heels…

© Laura A. Lord 2015

There is something odd, and yet beautiful in being a mother. It seems we always have so many different coats to wear: wife, mother, daughter, friend…Sometimes those coats seem to overlap, we slide from one thing to the other with little thought.

This was written for MindLoveMisery’s prompt.

11 responses to “1 A.M.”

  1. This is the essence of motherhood, the crux of it, the heart.

    And you bring it to us with words that shake us to the core with the knowledge that at any given moment, we are all one and the same.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Been there, done that, have a few t-shirts.
    daughter, sister, wife, mother… just four of many ‘hats’.
    This is a beautiful tribute to all women, including mothers. 🙂

    Thanks for stopping by my post on the prompt 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. We only wear one coat with lots of pockets. Dragging ourself through life we gain wisdom knowledge, we get to know love and learn how to share that an give away.

    One coat
    of mud pools
    dried up
    in time
    after lots of rainfall
    dare I share
    my pockets
    empty the grief
    Cry over its weight
    Warmth embraces me
    the fluffy plush
    the caressing
    bringing smiles
    the strength
    to keep on going
    underneath nails
    forgotten dreams
    rotten past
    and fought misery.
    Fingers, hands
    broken healed
    hardened from working
    the touch
    like feathers
    giving hope love
    teaching experiences
    writing epic stories
    to read at bedtime
    Filling my pockets
    with life happenings
    it has been drained
    torn and ragged
    it is my life
    until the day
    it will
    hang from a tree
    a branch
    worn down
    an example
    I hope
    for those
    we fly
    soar like
    watching over those
    we have left behind.

    ©Ranting Crow
    It is kind of like the life’s coat I once wrote. but these words here just flowed in one go onto your blog. Lots of love.
    In what pocket would you keep me.

    Liked by 1 person

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