This night is painted in pastels.
The colors still stained on the tips of my fingers.
The blending of bodies still tattooed on my bed where you left.
You whispered to close your eyes.
But I have never been more awake.
You asked me if I ever practiced breath work.
Marrying your lips on the outline of mine.
Every move instinctual.
A love language we both have forgotten but is now muscle movement.
Your breath filled the places where all the love once abruptly left.
Turned the hollowed-out chest of mine into a room of butterfly’s.
I breathed a wish of a lifetime into once single breath.