Midnight claustrophobia dreams,
                           where the charcoal
suffocation presses on my chest.

My expiration has no date of
                elapsing.

But the animation of my expiration
            still lingers,
and I hold on to that moment.

You are my collection of recollection,
            and in the onyx covering
  that the luminosity clings too,


we suffocate on every


                  exhalation of the other.