You are standing in front of me
though I'm not sure how you're still standing
with all of that metal hanging
from your shoulders  to the ground.

You stand far off in the distance
and step back once
whenever I have advanced twice.
Your armor is like a mirror in which
I see my own reflection.

Eventually I reach you and
you falter and halt your retreat.
You are afraid, and you hold out your weapon.
I carefully touch the blade
It draws a drop of blood
It shines against the overused sword
Faraway you've named it.
Though it has yet to cut me in two.

I take the hilt in my hands
and lift it from your grasp
your hands fall to your sides,
grateful for the relief.

It is a dance between us again,
a step backward, and two against.
I am close enough to hear your warm breath
fighting with the cool metal
covering your face.

I reach out
and take the first buckle in my hand.
Piece by piece, it falls to the ground.
Layers take years to reach,
but your skin is lighter for it.

Down to chain mail and helm
you seem to be weak.
Your body exhausted from
the weight it has carried for so long.

Patience fills my heart as we dance again,
to and from,
back and forth,
but you are down on your knees now.
I lower myself to the ground
and lift with both hands
the split sphere around your face.

I am hit by wave upon wave
of unsteady, wild emotion
but I do not turn away.
chain mail is last to fall,
and there you are.

You are glowing hot,
red and orange and sometimes blue
and It burns my skin, but I hang on tight.
You blister me purposely
let go
But we are already fused.
You melt into a shaking
and tired mess in my arms

and then we stand.

And I don't love you any less for it.