your breath

---willow thin and weak-kneed---

stumbles out of the shelter of your lungs

and begs to be let back in again

 

you refuse

for your breath is the one thing

you can control

at one a.m.

 

(but i remember when you made my breath catch in my throat because i’ll never forget your face in that moment)

 

sounds are stretched

through funhouse mirrors

the still backdrop of a black sky

being the only thing

you can trust

 

be cautious

for everything you hear

is strange and ephemeral

at one a.m.

 

(but i remember when i tried to make the sounds of my breathing match yours and it didn’t work because i couldn’t get them in synch)

 

beware the hour

after midnight

 

(remember when you were beside me, when you made me afraid to move because i might wake you up and for once you looked peaceful)

 

~(that was the first time i smiled at one a.m.)