I'm being worked on

by a woman who believes in angels.

Her card says when you want to rest your wings.

I call them blades.

Innocent and soft, the floating floof.

A hundred angels scold.

Pardon me for always running out to brawl with the good.

Let me stop making a table, strife a hungry ghost.

The woman tenderizes my body.

Like I’m a calf.

Of the finest magnitude.

Her hands prove my heart is the first animal.

I cry.