To Flow from The Mouse

Inhale . . . . . . . . . . . . Exhale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .  .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

. . . . . . . . . . . Inhale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . Exhale . . . . . . . . . . . . . Inhale . . . . . . . . .  . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

.     . . . . . . . . . . . .   .   .    .   .   .  .   .   . Blow 

Any sudden movement and  I might burst

Stay still and close and perhaps we will merge

 

This is not a poem about bubbles.

 

Like so I exist in space, in a secluded protective membrane, pushed forward by the invisible hand of the wind and up by the heat of my breath, warm breath, carrier of breath, carrier of me, carrier of that part of me we all fear the most. 

Inhale. Exhale. Watch. Observe.  

 

.

Disinfect

 

I am infected

And so will you

be

 

with

me

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