in the crevice of madness and sanity, the melting pot of humanity, there warm blankets of yellow, rotund bowls of soup, soft words for the sharp of my pain,

there are gangster bodyguards who protect my soft centre, their fierceness the neighbourhood i dwell in, their muscles and attitude a wall around the spring chickenness of my desire,

feathers in my hair, braided and hanging on either side of my face, elk skin for the round of my back, knives to cut the skins that we make soft shoes for our weary bones

he doesn't make me feel bad for being more than i appear to, as a mixed-blessing, terrifying and beautiful, he kisses the pleasure of my spirit, the sorrows of my soul,

this anger diminishes in her presence, she finds the seed of truth in me, the cool centre amid rabid fingers, she folds her corn husk wings across this beaded body