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.

Published by Michael Christopher Cole

Michael, is a highly motivated, filmmaker and video professional. Coming from a marketing background, Michael knows not only the ins and outs of a quality video, but also how to make the most impact across various media platforms. In addition to his work with Chocolate Diamond Media, Mike enjoys family time with his wife and son, traveling, and reading.

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