Fifefly

I wasn't sure how to go about it,
or what to ask,
or if you'd even answer.
The blue in your eyes throws me off every time,
and I'm left hanging on the space in between
watching the words from your lips
and pretending that I really am on the ground.

I couldn't be sure what to say
or why my hands were shaking,
my words stuck in my throat like a fat rabbit
in a tiny hole,
or why my heart beat faster than
bolts of lightning crashing down trees.

Your voice, it lifts me every time,
and my soul tries to catch it
like a butterfly in a net
or a firefly in my hands,
but instead it catches me
and throws me to the place
of never knowing
where I stay
in the middle,
the air beneath the air.
And there, I am content.