Sometimes I think about the way you breathe and how the air drips back into your throat and bounces around the lining of your skull like bits of folded paper. I watch it permeate every follicle and drift along the ridges of your spine. And in a moment it escapes you. Like the rouse of someone’s lips pressed completely into yours. I’ll say it first and in the dimness you’ll forget. Something about clinging to the chemicals in each other’s lungs. And it makes no sense but then what does really. Who cares as long as we’re breathing.