Child Under the Armor
A gentle hand through the drapes
as the rains of August drown the memories
into a sea of sweet waves gratifying as a divine nectar
the doors part with a soft hope-carrying breath.
Peeking in with the care of a cat-burglar in a mausoleum
bracing for the loud warnings of the sirens
braving the likelihood of a rushing army to protect her
he stops, leaning against the soft fabric a thoughtful soul.
Barely daring to move a digit, the phalanges tremble
eyes close to let the electric shivers of space within
a fluttering reminds him he is still living,
a statue frozen near the entrance of a palace.
A storm flashes on above with a roar
so distant, icy gusts of wind do not reach
but the caring heat of a safe room beyond
he drifts to her dreams, child under her armor.