She holds her chin and smiles vacantly so,
The rising taut of a child’s stomach, ‘neath;
Soft hands curled around undrawn trust’s core
I wish that were my fingers they sheathed.
I beg my mind to not clang its way in
And remind me of the wicked wrongs she’d done
For this moment is all that shall stay within
A shattered soul by this sleeping woman.
She stirs, I turn, into her her self seeps
‘Tis sad in waking, an angel must sleep.