Candlelit fingertip patterns,

she sees him in shadow fragments

under the blanket in her bed.

She's the princess,

and he's the prince,

of their cotton fort,

crowned with fingertip halos

and butter knife kisses

upon their shoulders.

She imbrues ink stars on cloth

and hews paper diadems,

grazing his face

tucking in the crevices.

They carve wands

out of pencil shafts

and animate the stars and terrain

until they speak in

soft whispers

that reverberate through 

the valleys he's crafted on her skin.

Their cotton fort is strong, 

standing in a forest of shadows,

but his dallying hands

are her armor as they

fall asleep by candlelight.