Breath-Taking

You have a way of taking my breath from me.

Like when you turn the car too fast

or stay silent on the phone for too long

or run a red light with me in the front seat.

But you also take my breath away

When you laugh your belly laugh

that sounds like a timpani drum

and a symphony

and a child

all at once.

When you hug me so tight my lungs can’t fully expand,

and they feel like balloons that are too big for my ribcage and

when those iron bars that hold my lungs

also keep the bird that is my heart from flying away

because without my heart,

my blood would be sadly under-oxygenated

and in a far less literal sense,

I wouldn’t be able to love you without it.