breakfast fire

one scent, specific

as the crease in a palm,

pressed under cloudcover

brought here, or sent

folded in atmosphere:

sachet of salt

sleepworn skin

tea behind teeth

and tongue

swelling over coal

fire breakfast

bowl, thicker

than the belly it fills

and

the room sucked

of air but our breath

traded

atom for atom

and 

the pulse left blue

but boiled 

for fuel.