Five days after my abdomen was cut open, my uterus removed for cleaning then shoved back into place– she crawls across my belly to breast, shakes her head in fits searching for sustenance by instinct before she can even breathe through her own mouth. Sheets soaked, shirts stretched and soured, each with two round spots. Leaking. Milk does not taste like honey when it has soaked into my couch. My let down flows so fiercely it chokes her. She has lost too much weight. The insidious attack of an alarm wakes us to feed every two hours. I am a vessel. I hallucinate walking down the steps, unbalanced with her in my arms. I throw a spoon at her father. I lose my hair clip in the refrigerator. I cry because the sun shines. I am lonely and completely attached. And yet, it is Bliss: Skin to skin we melt; the gentle warmth of the moonrise hearts satiated whole oxytocin and True Love.