falling

falling
falling through the time
distorted by nothing
but your imagination
when the sky above
swallows your whole being
disrupts your undeserving self
full of that love
that’s often written about
in books you never finished
because they are all too
bittersweet
to finish anyway
you are a mourning dove
the one who took off
by the morning sunrise
the puppy love
the glove belonging
to the wrong hand
you are the freedom
a freer love?
true love?
deprived of silence?
or filled with meaning
never before thought of
or discovered
who are you?
what do i want?
is it something true
uncovered
raw
spontaneous
when you just do
instead of thinking of
doing but actually doing things?
like you feel something
and you act on impulse
because why not?
you go
undress and do
do love
because you have no clue
how to do otherwise