Untitled reflection

She's nestled quietly in my lap, and I notice her legs,
at once thin, yet muscular.
Busy bruises scattered at intervals
in various shades of purple
mottle the otherwise smooth expanse
of peachy protection that, even at rest,
practically pulsates with the energy of a six-year-old.
This is just the beginning, I think,
and I grieve for her loss of innocence.

untitled

I was thinking of The Flea and came up with this...

The Tear

The tear burgeoned rebelliously,
bursting through the duct,
surging across the lower lid,
and skating to a halt in the shadowed corner of my eye.

Fighting against my will,
its salty sting insisted its presence be felt
just before it burst through
the bars of my lashes and
JUMPED
to its death,
the evidence of its triumph
marring my cheek
much to my shame.