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.