14/365 : Young Love Revival Part 2

Maybe I'm too old for young love--
for taking the plunge without calculating the drop,
for tangling myself without understanding knots.
I know too much, now.

Or maybe young love isn't tangled at all
but a simple shameless expression of enjoying the fall.

I used to run from across the room--
soar heights before belly flopping the truth
that I don't have real wings.
If I hurt myself, I'd moan a bit, then do it again.

It's time to strip the mattress bare.
I want to jump like I don't care that
I'll land on my belly, and flop.

I want to hear the springs coil.