Blue Lungs

His fingers
Ghosted the wound on my leg
From where I sat on the kitchen counter
Blue light filtering through
The windows
Dramatizing his cheekbones
And the sharpness of his jaw
The shadows of the evening dusk
Staining the room and his skin indigo

He unwrapped the
Coarsely done bandage, catching my gaze
As his hand came to rest on my inner thigh
His lips around a whiskey bottle
His irises flicking to the bullet wound
His hands travelling up my legs, to my waist
Before leaning to my ear, lips brushing my jaw
"Breathe,"
He trickled the golden alcohol
Onto the source of the the streaks of blood
And my hands fisted
In his hair and jacket

Gentle, using an old shirt to rewrap the angry injury
He slipped his hands under me to pick me up, halting only
When I murmured for him to wait
I pulled him close, still clutching him desperately from the pain
And breathed into his neck,
Feeling myself shatter as sobs broke
From my chest

Where he stayed and embraced me
In his arms
As the light turned from blues, to violets, and finally, to black.