Night-Breathing Machines

On all those nights too quiet,

I'd feel the halt of his breath.

His chest would expand then compress,

Yet the air from his lungs would not let.

We always loved the hum of a machine,

Motored fans that propel us into our dreams.

But what we learned from the sleep study:

he'll still jolt awake 32 times, it seems.

Who would have thought that to this date,

My partner would silently suffocate.

And so we got a night-breathing machine.

One that hums, the sound of breathing serene.

The nights are no longer quiet,

and the fan is now just a fan.

The evening machine, it hums and breathes -

And he sleeps all that he can.

Masked through the night, breathing away.

No jolts awake, unless he's up for the day.

And on those mornings, I'll lay in the sheets,

noting the quiet, but occasional beep.

It goes off on it's own, as if to say,

Hey, if you can't breathe, it's okay.

Just a reminder - I'll breathe for you, any day.

Then it hums, that breath so serene.

Like tides of the ocean, pulling me into a dream.