Not quite a love poem.

Breathe
Breathe
Breathe
Breathe
Inhale Inhale Inhale
Breathe
Breathe
Exhale Exhale Push, Push, Push/
Me into you
A collision
Of love letters like suicide bombs
Exploding
Exposing me to you-
Dangerous and desperate like nighttime
In Jersey City.

Shattering the rhyme scheme
Words tumble
Hazardously
Land randomly
And awkward
Words strange together like
Me and you
And call you tomorrow.

Your name a polysyllabic melody in my mouth
You, the porn channel of my imagination
Your name scratched below
A plus sign on the old oak tree
Your breath
Quick then slow
Fogging up the being of me.

Breathe
Breathe
Breathe
Inhale Inhale Inhale
Exhale Push, Push, Push/
The birth of Sunday morning.
I didn’t make breakfast
I went window shopping
Feeling too noncommittal for new clothes
I ate mediocre food and smelled my sheets
To see if you was ever there
Searched my soul to think of the
Next great American poem
And this is not a tribute
This is not a feminist statement,
An apology
Or declaration.
I just need to know:
How do I catch my breath
When I am just learning to

Breathe?

Breathe

Breathe.

Tracey Luszcz
Copyright 2004