Breath

Breath

Cold breath.

That cannot be,

Can it?

Cold breath?

Yet it is.

There is no doubt.

But breath is warm.

This is not.

This is cold breath.

How can one know it is not the breeze?

The smell.

No freshened wind this, no.

The smell.

The smell of old, dead breath.

The smell of cold, dead breath.

Too close it is.

Too regular it is.

Cold breath.

Cold breathing.

Old breathing.

There is a lust in it.

A desire.

Deep, slow,

And cold.

Unfeeling, so –

Cold.

If it gets closer,

You will hear it.

It will say

What is unspeakable.

And you will hear it.

Your last coherent thought will be:

“Yes.”

Cliff Lake 6/5/2024

CliffSongs