Breathe in, breathe out
In perfect rhythm
Lungs contracting, drawing in
a stale, tepid air that cannot compare
All signs of a life, lived,
of a life, swollen and full,
but never truly loved
A clock perfectly wound
Always meant to run out early
Tears in such sheer fabric
Pulling until skin shows
A precious mahogany
Beautifully particular
Exhalations on the tempered glass
Drying into streaks
Capturing a series of moments
that are gone far too soon
Like this breathing in
This stammering wish to feel again
This breathing out
On my own.
My Poetic Muse 