—I’M BREATHING BUT I’M WHEEZING, FEEL LIKE I’M EMPHYSEM-ING

Yesterday

I reach the inside of your throat by Komodo dragon, saddle-sore and fatigued, a sojourn of will at last accomplished.

Up close, your throat resembles a cylindrical cave, all this up-and-down-hollow, as I cling to its edges, digging my bootheels into the gummy lining.

At night, I string a lantern from your tonsil bell and watch it splay shadows in line with the measured thrum of your breathing. Later I hear you snore. Later I hear you yawn and gargle while a waterfall of foamy mint douses me.

On the phone you tell your sister everything. His occupation and shoe size. The way you’ve come to love the smell of axel grease. I only hear my name once, followed by, he’s not half the man he used to be.