The Fencer

I lay down alongside J on our big bed. I watch his little abdomen rise and fall as he breathes in his sleep. His fat sausage roll legs are relaxed and flaccid. He lays in the position of a fencer; one arm above his head, the other straight out as if he'd run me through with his sword. His sweet little lips, moist and pink, are stretched across his face in sloppy relaxation, a pool of drool slowly gathering at one side. I could lay and watch him sleep all day. I bend down to kiss his chubby little fist, the one about to run me through. It is clenched and moist. I nuzzle his fuzzy little head and inhale his sweet baby fragrance, which causes him to stir in his sleep. I don't want him to wake up and ruin my show. I back off so I can continue to observe his sweet bliss. How can I be so completely captured? So completely disarmed? I'm enraptured by the perfection of this moment. Somehow I know, the memory of this moment will endure. It is as I said, he has run me clean through.