A baby rests his sweaty head
against my rising chest.
His gentle snoring melts all dread,
the bass that leads to rest.

His tiny fingers spread like blooms
in spring when winter thaws.
My frozen veins like icy flumes
are melting in this pause.

I kiss his cheek and rub his back
as parents often do.
Reclining as a heating rack,
I’m warmth, and he is too.

© 2022 Justin Cohea
Image Source: Why Dads are the Secret to Blissful Baby Sleep