I am the armor that is invisible. Once I was naked and alone, my light brown skin
shivering with the absence of the warmth that is not heat. Then the translucent armor
surrounded me, packed in tight like a second skin, and we became inseparable. I now move
with the sureness of the veteran warrior, while my chariot sits broken by the road. I
place my eyes on that which sings, on that which laughs, on that which caresses, on that
which is about to dance, and I touch it through the fortress of my probing lenses. As I
have become more powerful, the fortress has grown taller and my heart has become lonelier.
In my upturned breasts and my full brown hips, I still carry the promise of lustful
surrender. But my eyes have fallen to the silent battle and I must look away when the
danger of the Other looms nearby.
I bring the quiet presence that can't be touched. I bring the objective love of the
observer that quietly sits atop high rock walls. My gift is simple. Somewhere in my inner
chambers, I may be quietly wounded by my work. But in solemn sacrifice, I bring with
me the clarity that is beyond color, the look that has no meaning, the hand that never
quite touches but is always an inch away.