Peace

[71degrees]

Boiling milk on the skin of the seas
fluttering into a shower of tin
as the flesh of the waters tear into the shore
bathe his wrinkled feet.

Walls of chalk built by giants long-dead
locked in a battle of physics and time
with the treacherous salt of the ocean-born air
stand behind his crown.

His eyes are closed: he dreams of peace and love.
His lips, they beam an honest, youthful smile.
His nape is resting on a blade of stone.

A rainbow glides above his quiet chest.
The coming dusk outspreads its arc of red
over the juvenile's navel.

Really enjoyed your closing end line word choices (e.g. seas/shore; dead/air; love/smile; chest/navel)...almost sub-liminal for me.  Nice.

Not much else I can say that hasn't already been hashed. "His nape is resting on a blade of stone" is an image that stuck out for me. Need that edge in other stanzas...something to bite a bit.  Not sure why, but I kept flashing on Narcissus about half-way through this.  Not sure this is good or bad.