Holding her eye-level after the bath,
the towel damp under her arms,
she cranes back and looks at me
almost cross-eyed, as if until now
she’s seen my face in pieces: eyes,
nose, in the same orbit, uncontained
by any outer limit. Now she sees
the whole. She steadies herself,
her palms on each side of my neck,
and out pours the fountain of her
breath, uncolored by milk and those
first two teeth beneath the pink
glaze of her gums. She leans forward,
her mouth moves over my nose,
mouth, chin— her warm face asking
for mine, all of it, and now.