Without Armour

A tin soldier lies in my bed, the last man standing

On a crusade; Denying flesh and blood,

But if f I am white then he is red.

I throw down-duvet over, not to divide,

I creep under as well, it is a cold night and

The boiler is bust but we are two.

Muscles are what he claims to be,

Well, at least it is better than steel

And I still drink that smell of sweat.

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One thought on “Without Armour

  1. elscorten says:

    the words, their interactions, the atmosphere created. that moment seems to last for a long time; suffocating and hopeful waiting …

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