Don’t Hold Your Breath

You’re my first breath in the morning. Eyes still closed, inhale. Skin-excite. Lung-scorch. Possible poison. Possible free-fall. With you as the air crumbling my skeleton. I am aching between each rib as they crack under the pressure of you as gravity. My days pass as storm clouds. Panic-rush across my hairline fractured sky. And I still weigh more than the room around me as I plummet. And I’d say you’re my last breath at night, but let’s be honest. That would require letting go, and I’ll never breathe you out.