Cloak

I hang my heart
on the inside of doors,
like your favourite towel,
a soft dressing gown,
the jacket you wore
last time you walked on your own.
I hang my heart
in the ears of my friends,
septum and belly hole,
going about,
dangling protectively.
Vikings wore armour,
my tribe wear friends
round their neck.
And in fifteen hundred hours,
won't change my mind,
long to reside,
right beside you
loving this life.