O2

I heard your breathing;
breath-taking and
breath-letting like an old-
time mediciner harboring the
common-place wives' tales.
You were right by me and
despite our distance
your even breathing was familiar.
The beats an after-thought
like you were born to be
a metronome,
an instant comfort like the
ocean's tides washing away
the tensions I've built up.

I hold my neck too tight
and my shoulders too forward.
I collapse into corners and
fold into tight spaces.
I have no claustrophobia,
no fear of the dark
because just as long as you're
breathing, it doesn't matter that my
legs are numb
and my arms are in the most
twisted of all pretzel positions.
As long as there is nothing
erratic about your oxygen flow in my ear,
I'm doing fine.