napkin poem: ash

am i a warrior?  no, none,
i am not sure enough for it--
just one who's unaccustomed to the sun.

i may have wanted to be one
and just against your side, fit--
am i a warrior?  no, none.

my blood is red--beneath skin
though, that sheath blues it.
i'm unaccustomed to the sun.

i think you'd say that in my vein
the blood runs blue as iris sky
above a sunset.
am i a warrior?  no, none.

i'd tear that sheath and show you it,
drain
the red, change, blue my vein
if i could manage it,
i, one who's unaccustomed to the sun.

but proof of love is vain
when no real love empowers it.
am i a warrior?  no, none,
just one who's unaccustomed to the sun.