Baited Breaths. Poem by David McLansky

The very air that passes through your lips
Those ruby portals wherein my pleasures found
Is pure ambrosia, on which my soul doth sip,
In heated reverie exchanging passions round;
Your very breath inflates my soul with fire
Like angels swelling sails upon the sea
Without such bellows I might expire
And stall in doldrums disconsolate from thee;
I journey forth each day in pilgrimage
To worship at that breath that gives me life,
Your face, your eyes, your cheeks my hermitage
I, doltish captive of a votive wife;
And though the world derides my love with scorn,
I bless the breath that gasped when you were born.