Unsaid

When the future is so fragile
it can hinge on the hesitancy of one breath
how can my love for you be important?

Yet whether fluttering or heavy
this fragrance bypasses control
forcing vision into
what could have been,
how one of me, in this den of a bed
hides in the darkness with a million of you
that I am losing
pressing back into your mirror worlds
where I have told you.
I should tell you.
But the blue LCD of my clock
disembodied in the air
still counts each lungful of formless
breath