Guilty. I am a chain-breather,
even on trains and planes, funerals and churches,
crowded theaters, even in bed
my furtive breaths inhale
each one delicious, each takes in
the reality of circumstance,
the where and when of all the air
around me, each air special,
different, no need for cinnamon
I tease my wife, but sometimes
sometimes I do need to add
the sugar of her smile.

7.x.22