Lover Too Late

This sonnet is a reworking of an earlier one:
First Touch of Our Second Child

I watch you place your hands upon your hips
and trace them to your belly, where they pause.
I watch your subtle, gentle fingertips
trace lovingly and linger where the cause
of this, your life’s creation makes you smile
again, like when you kissed me, skin to skin.
So half a life with him was worth your while
to bear another child of his within
your perfect body.
Solemnly you turn
to find my eyes upon your reverie
of life.  What fitful thoughts can you discern?
Does life create rapport? Then come to me
and place my dying hands upon the place
that bears the evidence of his embrace.

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