I’m not sure if I lay here,
and feel the justly breeze,
that my head will become lighter -
and project love to my knees.

The air goes in through my nose,
and follows back onto my palm,
my hand is pressed against my face -
in case you didn’t understand.

I want to keep my eyes closed,
but they’re desperate to know they’re safe,
because without the blocking
fingers to my pupils -
I propel to think I’m dying.