beyond compare

I squeeze you closer,
breathing “I love you sugar”
into your impossibly fine
still-little-girl hair.
Like every other morning,
I have insufficient words
to describe my love for you,
but persist in writing poems,
trying again to get it right.
Your hands have grown,
so I can’t compare you to the rain.
Your breath is sour, unlike a flower,
and you laugh the uproarious,
unrestrained peal of youth.
Still, I could eat you for breakfast.

For my daughter, poem #5 of 30 Poems in November to benefit Center for New Americans

It was E. E. Cummings who compared hands to rain, in somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond.