carbon monoxide and cold air are mixed, stirred, shaken then pulled sharply into my mouth, held, and then released
(you taught me this.)
there is something sad and small and comforting that i find in my chapped skin (knuckles bright red) reminding me of that time
when we stayed inside our hotel room drinking wine and watching french television and the gauzy orange curtains could not contain the sounds could not contain what was in my chest and i could not contain
the slow, sweet fire rising up and we did not see the seine we stayed where we were and i knew i was on the cusp of something tremendous and that night i caught a glimpse of it and it scared me just as much as it thrilled me
(you taught me this as well.)
your smell permanently resides in my nostrils; it is there to remind me lovingly, wistfully, painfully of you and our distance.