Even the shiniest of armor can be made of plastic.
the casing of a boy melted under my touch,
he did not know that women were hot.
He tried so much to cool me down,
as if I had a fever.
Little did I know,
that the universe was conspiring
to send me a man whose skin sizzled like mine,
it sent him to me in a strange way,
through cyber tunnels and invisibly parallel friendships.
I do not hesitate to hold his hand,
I am not cautious of burns,
but I grasp it tightly,
and celebrate the small fire that we build.
If the summer days become relentless,
I take a dip into his irises,
that arctic shady blue allays
the veins on the inside of my wrists.
And regardless of the cool grass that resides within my own windows,
this Indian summer will be scorching.