There are seventeen knobs in my room
and three doors
that I open and close over and over again in my mind
when I can’t sleep.

Sometimes when I nudge my face into the
hollow of your neck
I count how long between each breath.
And sometimes when we walk together
I feel like the sidewalk is chasing my feet.
Like every day is an endless game of hopscotch
against the cracks in the cement.

I wish I didn’t feel like the ground
Was quicksand
And that I could pretend that
when you hold me
I don’t worry about the symmetry of your touch.
But for now,
I am grateful that you’ll sit with me
Opening and closing those doors in our minds,
Holding me so tight that all I can feel
Or think about
Is you.