The fray comes nigh and I am not shaken.
The spinning thoughts cease and desist.
When the morning comes and I awaken,
all swords shall be sheathed by the mist.
A salubrious breath satiates my breast.
My muscles elongate and then retract.
Your heart could console my head upon your chest.
I am compelled to dream but not to act.
The time is not right, though it is fleeting.
My organic clock can has taken a beating.
Although no blood may now spill forth.
There are other ways to prove my worth.
Sand and salt and rock and clay,
create the earth upon which I stand.
And while I stand solidly against the fray.
I look for the solace found in your hand-
that I imagine softly slides across my cheek,
while I yearn to possess what it is you seek.