Asthma: A Love Story
Your lips were blue she said
I lipped the plastic rim
of the peak flow with my teeth
on the indents blasted
air from lungs
a chafed huff
that charcoal sound
followed by the quick puff-puff
inhaler’s strut
perfumed my tongue
your lips were blue she said
I don’t remember her lips
were I don’t I don’t
some animal
inside my chest
tries to whittle its way out
she lipped a coffee straw
and went red
when her cheeks sunk
and puffed she heard in Science
that it felt that way to breathe
with asthma but it’s nowhere
near the lips cheeks veins
in your neck I said it comes
from some place deeper
the kettles in your chest
when my lips were blue I blew
little O’s
with the vapor sucked
from treatments the tannic
meds dried my tongue
I can still taste it
but not like her lips when we breathed
into each other’s lungs
to feel all the air
force-fed and pressed
into chests
her humid mouth
on my unblued lips
and after the little whistle
in my laugh