at least for now

here comes the desire to breathe in your mouth

since we are talking about breathing here,
you probably know already that I can’t stop myself from doing so
once you allow me to

missing a second will make me miss how you beautifully stroke
your hair
your hands
move like a bundle of paintbrush, shading the gaps between each strand
with colors that even a 3-year old child will pick to make
an inanimate flower on a paper smell  like Spring

missing a minute, on the other hand, will make my heart race badly
I will painfully hold on to what is left in my lungs
and because the air inside me reeks of cigarette smoke
I might passed out
and that will make me miss more of you—
the way you melodically put on and take off your pants
both reveal  the contours I love to trace
the second I wake up
in between our naps
while having an almost hard to believe kind of orgasm

missing an hour, missing a day, missing a month
I have yet to know about those

(but I never really wanted to find out)