Your sympathetic strokes

Raindrops toppled.
Winds pried your crystal courage.
Your spirit nearly parted from your trembling flesh,
By cracking thunderbolts.
Leaves scratched your innocence.

 
A great warmth slowly hugged your good mercy.

 
"Maiden, your harmony's lost much but still lives.
The fleeing storm is naught worth weeping."

 
He quietly combed your harmless hair,
Then wiped your damp cheeks
And cupped your lightly bruised face.

 
After a while
Your recovering head laid upon his lukewarm lap
Where your brushing fingers perfectly paced
His iron veins of humid blood,
Strengthened his entirety,
And climbed his chest
With your sympathetic strokes upon his thigh
That soon nested your snores.

 
 
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