When a Poet Comes Calling

I fell from the horizon (shoved by a new born glow),
covered in a whimsical lurch from my own shadow.
Harshly I landed on the dressed pages inside,
the posh magazine in which you cleverly hide.
I slowly finger your words as the ink began to drip,
stealing a taste of you as I slowly touched my lip.
Brisking in shallows of any given floor,
wondering if an aberration could be my one true door.
I reached through the taint-of-breath from a beating mind,
altering each treasured phrase one molecule at a time.
I am a man without a parachute when falling,
defenseless when a poet comes calling...