I’m Not Holding My Breath, I’m Just Not Exactly Breathing

It’s a biting breeze meets us

You pull up your collar,

I tighten my scarf

Walking to the park together

          In the hail

          In the dark

But today’s high noon shines on us

As you take my arm,

and I look in your eyes,

the park, it spins around us

          Just you and I

          Just you and I

And now, dressed in the hard noon light

you glow, you warm me in the cold

Your long lithe body

all lit up in gold

And now your voice encircles me

as we do what we do,

walking our park together

          Just me and you

          Just me and you

               In this park there’s only us two;

          when first we meet

          as quick as I can

          I bury my nose

          in that spot at your neck,

          for a moment so close

          I can collect your scent

And then our shadows lean

across the lawn, our arms elongate, our hands,

fingers separate, fingertips part ways

          Our weekday standing date

          Seems we are always walking away

          A breeze with teeth,

teeth still quite sharp,

and though I’m cold,

I keep my nose from my scarf

          so I can smell you,

          in my breath, in my in-breath,

          at the pause before I exhale

I stall in that moment of stillness

somewhere inside,

inside my sinus maybe, I don’t

know where it goes,

this hint of a trace of a smell

I can almost taste behind my nose

And so, into the hard sun,

alone as I go,

I breathe you in, drawing

steady air slow,

          and I stall in between

          the in- and out-cycle,

keeping pace, I hold still in that space of smell

that is also memory, and also taste

          and I feel you there,

          as if you are fleetingly real

          as if you and I

          as if you and I

And I’m

not quite holding my breath,

I’m just not exactly breathing

*First published in Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, February 2023. Now part of my Little Free Chapbook series.