Rumplestiltskin of my soul
a soul of no place
of dream
of never
here by the skin of my flesh
a singing flesh so warmly covered
siding me
and against

Soon did I drift towards you
a hazy snail into the pocket of my desire
to sleep there
pale with longing

Take me to market, do
or to the rainbow
or down Bloor Street
anywhere, please

For I do cradle here
your name so fully on my lips.

If you open me unto your palm
I do smile still
for I flower here
in the warmth
of your loving skin.