Dashing through the air
Never with any grace
You land by my hand
And press your face beneath
We do this nightly
This is how you ask
You say please
And I always oblige
Fingers on your head
The space between your eyes
Your teeth sometimes chatter
And your third lid peaks forth
When I stop
Or you get distracted
You move a smidgen closer
Or even situp
Iām not entirely sure
Your attention now elsewhere
And so now you begin
Your gentle little cleanse