His humidity dusts the air
with presence—thick, rainy, full
of wet skin that particles its way
into my nose, tunneling.
I drink the smell, inhale heat
to make wind, let its lingering
tendrils reverse me and break me
soft. I am a forest in his midnight.
He is unchanged, a pallet
for my growing. I root out, breathe
into the dark unknowing of his dim-
lit mirror, the wreck that can wash me clean.
The smoke of his phantom is hurtling
against the edges of me, the outline
no one’s ever been able to see.
Rachel L. McMullen is a teacher, freelance writer, editor, and poet. Her work can be found in Oracle Fine Arts Review, Three Line Poetry, Unbroken, and elsewhere. She is the Co-Founder and Managing Editor of Random Sample Review.