young neil

other people were breathing

i was holding my breath

i couldn’t look at you
could
not

i looked at the ceiling and memorized it in place of your face
hands
shoulders

wrote you a letter
that i couldn’t read back to myself
could not

fell into your name
fell into your images
on paper
scraps
napkins
bristle board

there is nothing romantic about having not turned to face you
holding my breath
your name under my tongue