Strange Strangers

I find home nowhere
But in a broken heart and worn body that rests on the streets of my own hometown.
I find love in the weary eyes of a local lost soul.
Without even knowing, he swaddles me in his tales and woes.
I find poetry and silk in his cursive slurs and shaky hands
I find rose and sandalwood in his breath of beer and old clothes of smoke
I find a seat in his lap and kiss on the forehead in his words and confessions spoken to me
He tells me he knows I am good, gentle, and a special form of kind
It's in his praise I find proof of my pulse and my flesh
It's only in seeing him, that I can feel seen