love like a self-inflicted disease

it would be denigrating
to say that I no longer miss
your carcinogens in my lungs,

reminisced about inhaling asthma
as if the one saving grace
from my lung capacity
was the wispy smokes of cancer
dancing around my alveoli

but though I know
I only kissed your memory
goodbye last night,
breathed a rasping breath
as if your lips' feathery touch
could asphyxiate me,

it has already been too long
to hang onto the nostalgia
behind falling in love
with your waltz
that life-like
deadlines cut
in between

so before you leave me,
may I have this last dance?