Doctors confirmed

my love’s death.

 

I sulked. I sulked for days,

days that turned into weeks

spinning into months across

nowhere. I barely left the couch.

Missed her wet breath

misting the back of my neck.

I gulped a heavy weather,

filled my earthly lungs.

I became a hurricane blower

and a terrible gale gasper.

 

From a still moon zephyr

Cassiel watched the world

huffing and puffing and sucking.

He saw me cursing God,

fighting mortality with air.

He whispered to me,

Hell is perpetual inhalation.

 

No one breathes in heaven,

everyone is breathless.

 

S. Babin holds a BA in English Literature from the Ohio State University, and a JD from the University of Pennsylvania Law School. He lives with his family, and works in Columbus, Ohio. His work has been featured in Spark: A Creative Anthology; Bop Dead City; Cactus Heart; Star 82 Review; Bread & Beauty; and many more.