Your skin
Almost evaporated.
Damn you for reminding me
Of your mortality.
My lungs yearn for something
So much more wholesome
Than this pang,
They burn with
The salty memory of you
Inhaled.
I do not make my excuses
Anymore.
I do not need to.
I do not forgive them,
Either;
I must mistake myself
For someone with virtue.
This is how we survive.
We avoid survival.
We turn fully toward memory,
Hop three steps backward,
Finding solace in a moment
We forgot we were standing in.
A breathing room
In the likeness of a you
I used to know.
