What happens when you ask your waiter for a prompt

Gowri K and I met for a long overdue Sunday afternoon at Tryst today. With no inspiration of our own brewing,  we asked our waiter for a jumping off point. Turns out, he had almost died on his drive to Adam's Morgan from Virginia. So here goes "I almost died." Also much thanks to the wonderful bartenders we sat next to who bought us shots of Blue Curacao (?). Random but tasty.

I almost died this morning

Twice

The first time I got lost in the soundtrack of your 

breath as we slept. 

You whispering in my ear with each

dip in your dreaming. 

I forgot what my breath tasted like. 

Forgot that the nutrition of your touch, your limbs

Felt essential as hearts beating, breaking. 

I wanted to forget about that rhythm and try 

your lungs instead 

But morning reminded me of time, rhythms. 

I knew we'd eventually rise to burnt toast and crosswords

And the moment on the stoop when I want to grab you 

and run away to under the covers. 

See I almost died today.

Twice.

I arose and went back to sleep.

But in those moments before consciousness

before the day's hissing latte machine or somber music,

with your breath playing that hymnal in my ear,

briefly before daylight stole you away

I lived.