She is lying in bed–
        tucked under her duvet,
        wrapped in freshly
        washed sheets, breathing
        into the phone that I know
        is on her pillow–
97 miles from me.

It is her asthma, acting
up right on time, that
is keeping me awake
so I am lying, under
my own duvet, holding
onto my own phone,
thinking
        about the airways
        carrying every breath
        into and out of her lungs–
        inflamed, muscles tightening,
        narrowing paths
thinking
        that maybe breathing
        in the same cells, oxygen
        mixing with carbon, me
        mixing with you, you might
        be able to breathe
        a little easier
thinking
        that I know
        I breathe easier
        with you

If air contained calories
Would I stop breathing?
Or would I start panting like a dog?
Or, maybe, would I just continue breathing because – after all – it doesn’t matter anymore?

Yes. No. Maybe. The height of a giraffe. The colour of sunsets. Thunder clouds in a clear sky. Gods in Beasts. Purple rain and Orange blueberries. Silhouetted trees. Murmmering leaves. Moon washed. Recycling unused wood. Unrequited. The illusion of what's not there. 15mm too small or too thick? The lash of a tongue. Screamed. Steam off of snow. Risen and succulent. Smooth. Bubbles in a Jacuzzi. A desert lagoon. The silence of a fire. Freefalling palpitations. Wreckless. Wide open. The youth in a wrinkle. Or a wrinkle in youth. The sound of a supernova. Dancing lights of the aurora. The space between. And the between spaces. Timeless. Wanton. Brazen. Broken. So empty its spilling over, and all consuming. Indistinguishable. Unseen depths. Fathomless. Shallow ripples. Waves upon waves. Status without face. Stolen. A mirror without reflection. Sunbeam skin kisses. Captured. Lingering breeze. Static glances. Sleep's rise and fall. Temporary Life. Lent not Given. You. Me. Them. Nothing. Breathless.

I woke up with a pain in my chest
I woke up wanting to scream
I woke up with your name on my tongue
I woke up and I couldn't breathe

My tears fall
As I have fallen for you
I don't hate you, not at all
Can't we start anew?

I don't think i ever will
Stop loving you
From late April until
My heart stops aching for the moon

i long for damp gold tears
from the dying trees
for me to inhale the summer's death
and exhale the winter's birth
when the air is hangs low with drowsiness
and cinnamon settles in the wind
what more can i want-
than cold nose and warm chest-
so loosely wrapped in ochre wool?

There are days when it will be hard,
Getting out of bed will seem impossible,
Breathing will seem like a battle,
You'll want to just curl up and die.
On those days, you must remember
How far you've come.
How much further you have to go,
And all of the people that will love you
In between