Breathing is an Act of Grace

I can’t remember how to breathe.
I’ve forgotten almost everything,
except your hands cupping my breasts.
They fit perfectly.
Your mouth decorates my throat with necklaces,
my body collects itself beneath yours.
You speak a language I only understand in dreams,
sounds I’ve never heard before.
I answer back with a language of my own,
from far down in my throat,
soft vowels punctuated with moans.
I drift somewhere just above drowning.
Breathing is an act of grace.

Heidi Garnett

Email: Heidi Garnett

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