Tripped Over Air

When you reach out to me
My trachea blows out the sun when I breathe
I exhale enough to apologize for 
The darkness it leaves

And explain away whatever beast 
The calamity awakens, but in doing so 
I funnel it oxygen
The other patrons stare
Straight ahead to pretend I'm not there
As I get back in my seat
Using a bucket and a spoon
"That man likes his air..."
His friend says, "Too soon!"
They are genuinely scared
As my eyes scan the room
Like hands fumbling for a key
Knowing the one I want is in a distant bag
I collect air once again
Like I was Shahrzad telling King Shahryar
A bedtime story in drag
The sense of chasing and being chased
Will leave you breathless in place
And breathful in space
And your peace will deeper
Than it was before the race