they are splashes of white paint
in a graffitied world
friendly ponds
on a planet of raging seas
the whipped cream left on noses
that laughing dessert
your tongue can’t quite reach
mostly though
it’s what I become around them
the flour-dusted stay-at-home mom
face melting with tenderness
the doting hands-on dad
with hands donating tenderness
I suppose if it was titled
“in the company of God”
the lyrics wouldn’t change
except for the licks
and belly rubs?
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