I like the warmth of her tiny palms on my cheek,
when we lay on the bed,
before the night closes the day.
I like the feeling of her peck from her lips to mine,
the wetness of it,
I like the reflection in the mirror that smiles back at me,
her head slightly slant, her shoulders shrugged,
when I carry her in the bathroom,
brushing her teeth and stroking her hair.
I like the laughter she makes,
when my hand found her stomach,
tickling away her sanity.
I like the steps she makes,
with knee up high when she runs,
with pace alike a puppy leap.
I like the kick she makes on my back, using her tiny feet,
stomping away the soreness from my spine,
her way of waking me up in the morning,
when the clock strikes eight, sometimes nine, at times ten.
I like her breath in my ears,
a tiny wind that blows into my drum,
when I carry her up the stairs.
I like her face on my chest, the roundness of it,
slammed against my heartbeat,
when I shook her to her favorite song.
I like the voice vibrated through her throat, the spontaneity of it,
the epitome of affection, the need to be with me,
when she calls me: