My son lies sprawled in sleep; pink cheeked and arms akimbo.
No longer sullen teen,with glowering look and muttered moan;
but a small boy once more.
In sleep he transforms; tranquil and at peace;
the sound and fury of the day forgotten.
As I gaze upon his sleeping form, the strain and toil of battled wills is all but erased;
in its place the memory of sweet milky breath against my skin
and tight coiled fist curled round my thumb