Imagine that breathing was not a habit
and you had to hold your heart in your hands
every moment
a life beginning and ending with the looming question:
"Will this go on?"
Will we find strength to attend
the furnace of our easily-expired flesh engine
or
will we decide that we are simply too tired
to continue on?
Imagine how every breath in would feel like a choice
and the millisecond of fuel
that soothed our aching chest would inspire us
to reach for such heights once again
a life lived in short spurts of both
panic and peace in equal measure
a constant reminder of death's granite fingers locked
around our throat in a lover's lustful embrace
Imagine you let yourself acknowledge
the recognition that to breathe in and live
is a gift
that both inspires and demands without interest
in the investments of either
neither still would anything more be required
to deserve an anniversary of moments
whereupon we lavish ourselves with life
as a lover his suitor in kisses
this is without a doubt a feat for which
we seldom give ourselves credit
and perhaps if more we could
a more perfect love of self might be found.
-rrf