There are moments when my breath escapes.
It runs so fast it's vanished.
Crashes into the looking glass.
Leaving nothing but, wipe away marks.
It knows it's needed.
Surely it does.
Can't catch it.
None left to blow out the candle.
Breath has a purpose in staying alive.
In rapid pursuance, a chase initiated.
Old paper packets.
Crisp ***** brown.
Virginal white.
As a child they burst well.
Bang.
A paper bag a useful tool.
Steals the panicking from this anxious fool.
(c)Livvi