You're asleep, I think I can tell by the way your lung contents are squeezed from your nostrils In ever so slightly a more Forceful motion than when we lie awake hiding from each other behind eyelids. And your recycled air brushes my forehead And I think dustily of how the same molecules Dance in my lungs That have visited yours.
And our skin coloured mountains form scapes On the expanse of wrinkled bed sheet And I am dead still As I try to keep this frozen hug In a capsuled memory To recall on one of the nights You can't make it.