When he breathes – a poem

--

Deep, heavy, loud.

A constant in a quiet hospital ward.

It reminds me of

Sofa naps in front of the TV.

And snoring that made

My bones vibrate.

Still, it continues.

Not consistently, though. No.

Not anymore.

And with each one he takes

I am aware I’m counting down,

To the moment they stop.

--

--

Your Lost Language
Your Lost Language

Written by Your Lost Language

“Being loved the way I love, would begin perhaps, a little quietly.” Poems by Sarah.

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