On Her Breath

My wife’s breathing and mine
Never come at the same time,
Thankfully, they’re out of sync.

You could wish that they do -
It would make a fine statement
For our common chemistry.

They don’t; and that is perfect.
How otherwise could I smell
The breath from her nostrils?

It is rather on purpose -
The algorithm of J’ah
Where in takes the out puffs.

And thank God for a snout,
The fantastic in the grotesque;
She may lie her back to me,

Still I’m enabled to say, ah,
I love the smell of your breath!
That she agrees is beyond telling.