Love Like Breathing

Beer bottles emerge from a JanSport

like red-eyed rabbits from a hat

as magician's hands, tense and sweaty,

perform their final trick.

And just when I think I’ve fallen deep,

deep down

through the thumb-size hole

in this tattered limousine seat,

suffocated by the violent jabs of

sideways glances,

you inhale my discomfort and say,

“I’m happy you’re here.”

You hum Gwen Stefani through a gap-toothed grin,

tuneless.

Don’t Speak boy,

it’s your breath

I covet.

Youth clamors on, witless

as we whisper hot air into each other’s lungs,

creating tropical gales

that push our bodies close.

A joint appears in your hand;

gift from God or Gwen.

You exhale

and leave me breathless. Gasping

bodies evaporate into puffs of

Thick. Creamy. Smoke.

We float through cracks in the sky;

obsidian in the starlight.

You become the warm summer breeze

undoing my curls,

the gusts of wind that coat my mind in velvet;

emerald green.

And when the memory of you fades

to a pale xanadu,

when nothing remains but stale air

in ziplocked lungs,

I must only remember to step outside

on a warm summer’s night

and breathe you in.