You stood, heavy, on my chest.

You asked me to breathe more deeply,

but I couldn’t breathe at all.

You were too heavy.

Your feet felt hot with purity

and singed my skin with perfect love.

You stood, heavy, on my chest.

My eyes grew heavy, my breathing labored and shallow.

You asked me to breathe more deeply.

I grew afraid, having become accustomed to

the trusted rhythms of easy breaths, drawn quickly.

My head swam, my thoughts ran, my chest ached.

You stood, heavy, on my chest.

Through winsome gaze and trenchant eyes

you asked me to breathe more deeply.

Feeling myself near the end,

my heart beat angrily, demanding more.

I gasped in, and there rushed in a fullness of

breath more sudden, more round, more living than ever.

You stood, heavy, on my chest.

You asked me to sing what you were singing.

Breath renewed, thoughts ablaze in the fire of life

I joined your song. But your voice was too perfect.

I thought I knew the words for you had sung it before –

many times. Still, my joy, still shy

waited for something more.

You stood, heavy, on my chest.

Then, you bent your head low, listening to my heartbeat.

It matched your own. To my fading words. They had

your accent. For my faltering voice.

Finally, words came and, as effortlessly as my last memories of breathing,

I gasped out the song.

I had been full of breath, longing to appear.

I had known the words all along, the melody’s true bearing

found tracks in the blood-worn pathways of

lungs newfound, air fresh-breathed, songs bright-lipped.

I sat, singing, upon your breast.

Picture found here