Obscene

 Obscene 

I hear breath 
in an empty room—
walls,
chair,
a light 
that doesn't flicker.

The sound—
wet, 
rhythmic—
practicing 
its own demands. 

I tried silence. 
It failed 
me.

The breath
kept happening.

Not mine.
Not anyone’s.
Just breath—
the fact of it.

It touches the air. 
It touched the air-   
touch—
the
air.

No witness,
audience,
reason. 

It is heard 
despite refusal.
 
It issues,
requests—
forgiveness.

If I 
leave the room
it follows—

not a 
ghost—
a
crime.