And I pray these butterflies can teach me,

How to dance free as falling;
I follow every move you make a few seconds late,
Slow to catch the hang of it but eager nonetheless.
I have a ballerina for a heart, like little devils on either shoulder,
And it spins like a carousel, pumping blood instead of better things.
But I’m starting to feel the music like you do.
If I could steal gods toolbox, 
I would knead our clay together;
Until then, I’ll listen to the heartbeat and work my everbreaking hands.