She raised her birthing hips high as a full bowl to a sipper, as he situated himself where he had always been drawn to the heady scent, and she felt, at that moment, as she clawed and clenched, seeing him rise and set over the horizon of her valley, and as fluid came rushing forth from the most primal river of her being, her body threatening to go inside-out, that she was giving birth to him, the father, her pulse beating like a tambourine fecund with the feast of fertility.
Dust some crumbs off your lap: