There is more than simple oxygen

in every

       breath

I exhale.

There is every syllable I never divulged,

every word that shimmered along my tongue

but never permeated my teeth.

 

In a breath, coexists

Lamentation

and every drop of Euphoria my lungs could grasp,

pivoting and coiling

in the back of my throat,

dreaming to be uttered, released

but reluctant to go.

 

I linger there in a half breath

just an instant too long;

the words expire and the silence floods.

In my oxygen I emit my truths:

my promises and observations,

ghosts of sentences never articulated.

 

And I return to a

`                       mere

breath,

pain glistening in my eyes.

 

I have never spoken

a

word.