Tiny Fists, Tiny Feet

Tiny feet, covered in cloth drag down my bare chest,
The rubber grips pulling my chest hair as streak downward,
I bite the insides of my cheeks, suppressing a cry,
the searing pain of being involuntarily waxed.

My eyes pop open, and even in the utter darkness,
I can see the shadows of his tiny body squirming perpendicular to my own.
I push my hands down against the mattress,
and gently slide them underneath him,
careful to not disturb him,
and I rotate.

As he settles into his new parallel position,
I feel the weight of the mattress shift,
and his body rolls toward mine.
Despite the fact that a third of my body is hovering,
over the black abyss that lies beyond the edge,
he is pressed tightly against me.

I close my eyes, trying to fade out of consciousness,
reality begins to fade, and I start to drift.
His tiny fist slams into my right eye socket.

My eyes blink open,
from the right I see an array of colors,
a tiny holographic rainbow that is only mine.
I stare at the ceiling until the sun comes up.

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