You are dust swimming 
through sunbeams in the morning,
sunbeams that pass the slit of my bedroom curtain
like spotlight. You are the main act.

I wait for you to settle on the floor
and blow me away.
You blow me away 
and I breathe you in.
I breathe you in despite 

the irritating possibilities.
Despite you,
you, making me heady
you, making my eyes watery, red
you, making my nose drip, my heart bleed.
I breathe you in, still.

You are a moment, 
the longest suspension of time
before a long awaited sneeze.

You are dust, love,
sometimes we all are.
You are that. 
And antihistamine.
And much more, 
so much more.