Touch and Go

your heart has more gravitational pull than the moon, and every single time you open your mouth, i fall to my knees and wish i hadn't became what i was meant to become just yet, because i'd like a little more time to breathe in and out and know that there are such things as unicorns and boogeymen. when i stand at the edge of my heart, looking down and feeling as though that chasm is all i have to know and belong to, you grab my arteries and veins, twisted though they are, and you tug me back, and whether i land in your arms or on my face is irrelevant, because either way, i'm laying safe and there before me is another day to drift through. there are artists sitting on my shoulders, and they whisper things in my small ears that may or may not be healthy, and those artists are having affairs with the poets who are laying in between my molars and i catch them holding hands and kissing sweet red lips and while they are falling in love, i am walking into walls, because my ears do not hear the artist's words and my clumsy feet cannot read anything the poets write. i lay listening to gillespie words and wishing my fingers could be warm enough to touch and go, and my arms could be strong enough to catch me on days that i fall, but i know that that will never be, and on nights that the stars crash around me and during a day that i wish the stars were there for me to collide with, i feel warm enough to leap forward and grasp onto things that i could only dream of, and i can hear you and my artist's murmuring advice into thawing ears.