They are always laid on their backs,
hands folded delicately, almost
as if in bedtime prayer,
over their still bosoms -

as was custom to call it
then in that undefined
historical time in which all
sleeping princesses forever dream.

I am reminded of them now
as you lie there, my drowsy prince
in a comforter castle. You
who lie there so unassumingly,

your quivering lips impetus enough
to embolden anyone, knight or otherwise,
to scale the stony towers of
your blanketed confinement.

But as i watch you i find
that i am no princess, and
far from the gallant savior
your fairy tales promised.

I have no sword with which
to save you, and no beast
to save you from beyond
the snoring dog at your feet.

There's no poisoned spool or fruit
to trap you, no wicked witch's scheme,
just a heavy head and a warm
pillow beneath it,

And how foolish i look now,
worn pajamas replacing the
silver armor i should have on.

so sleep my dear prince,
and dream of the hero you want
me to be, and i'll stand guard

by the door, trying my best
to keep the dust bunnies and
dragons at bay.