I hide my dreams in the space between
the cover of a book and the spine of it

I pace underneath beds with a pulse
and I can tell you, my blanket is
clean of dust from the bookshelf

I lie back to try change the anchor
of two on the edges of my lips
into balloons that float

I am not really good at promises:
as I hold up the roofs for you
as I said I would
Earth shifted and I let it fall
and for me to get a grip just so
I won't fall

I slip in between gates of your houses
Seated between beds and bathroom
Spinning around on the couch in front of TVs