Mostly when she breathes

Mostly when she breathes,
Her exhale melts candle's wax
down my bumpy wall,
filling the space like honey
in the pores of the oat nut bread
I ate in the sunrise
on the day we cried
and said goodbye.
The light outside
this room is turned off
but I feel the warmth
beneath my door frame
of a dull, flickering flame
untamed, bedside,
calling out to me-
b r e a t h e.
I remember what I've
remembered to forget
and my hand comes to my mouth,
holding in my thoughts
like a forbidden phrase
that wants out.
I remember these fingers
traced your outline
as I watched your eyes
change weather patterns
I remember understanding
"beautiful"
for the first time in a long time,
I feel this way.
Mostly when she breathes,  
Mostly on my cheek.