she breathes....
and everytime i turn the page, she reads.
a perfect dance: inhale/exhale.
it's like it's medicine for me.
her voice is soft and like a memory that
you'd feel rather than see.
the sun's one and only broken beam;
it's like it's home to me.
a cozy sea of warmth and light.
another bed? another night?
no other head would heal this plight
(the bettering of a heathen's flight).
it's funny, her fingers finding home upon my waist. i reflect.
then, drawing hearts on my face, before her lips find sleep on my neck.
i know it's really air, but i swear i breathe her in.
it's not only that she's fair and thin, but that she's oxygen.