He sits under lime green leaves , a sentry covered in armor.

I expect him to protect me with his cast iron body and patinated shell.

His cold hard self still, not able to move in the shade.
Scented  lilac permeates the leeway.
Crickets call in the Moon.
My tongue reaches for the rain starting to fall.

He is just a decoration.

I wait for the air to quiet into gray.
and yet, Athena would shed her soul for Tritonis.

I saved my tongue for proper use. 

Did I ever want him to save me?
Certainly not a simp as a savior.

A garden lizard, hardened and stern
as my savior?

Prav. 

Say it isn’t so.