He didn’t know what time it was,
Except that it was early,
And he wouldn’t need to be up for hours.

So he turned his head toward the
Only window in the room,
Which was so white that it appeared
To be encasing ten feet of snow.
It was April, though,
He remembered through the neon glow,
And the room was 17 floors up.
The old hotel was silent,
Bathed in this new sunrise, so
Cold and refreshingly bright;
This new day- this white, ****** light.

And then there was the girl-
Sleeping beside him like a kitten
In a sea of pale linens and downs,
An arm over her forehead,
Like a dozing damsel in distress.
She’s fragile, he thought,
Fragile and rare as a glass unicorn,
The heart-wrenching, Tennessee Williams type-
No broken horn, but something
Indistinguishable setting her apart;
Like the pure sunlight, here lies
A beauty so blinding, yet hidden from plain sight.

He didn’t know what time it was,
Except that it was early,
And he wouldn’t need to be up for hours.
Her arm twitched.
The room was boomingly silent.
The infant light made a golden bar across the bed.
The air was crisp.
His breath was warm.
He felt chilled.
His skin felt raw.
His eyes felt raw.
His heart felt raw.
Her skin looked soft.
He wondered if her heart was soft.
He swallowed quietly.
He felt his head pound against the quiet.
Her arm twitched again.
A long-forgotten childhood scar shimmered,
And he decided that this particular mark
Is innocent, but…
He would move a mountain and
Protect her always; keep an eye on her,
In all her wild wonder,
Rather that give her another.

And then there’s the slight voice:
"Beautiful as if made of marble,
Untouchable as if made of glass,
If you’ve ever wondered how an angel sleeps,
Now you know at last."

And while he slipped back under the covers,
He slipped helplessly into a love from which he'd never quite recover.