Breath: A Series of Sonnets

The following sonnets form a small series on breath — the most ordinary, involuntary act, yet also the most profound. Breath is how life begins and how it ends. Breath is love's music: nervous inhales before professions and confessions., the lingering echo of loss. And breath is identity: the struggle to draw air in a body that feels foreign, and the liberation of exhaling truth in one's own voice.

Each sonnet is published separately and can stand on its own, but together, Of Breath and Life, Of Breath and Love, and Of Breath and Identity form a cycle of being: to live, to love and to become.

Sonnet 1: Of Breath and Life

One breath begins the body’s fragile flame,

The trembling spark that strikes against the dark;

From silence born, the air bestows a name,

And carves its fleeting presence with a mark.

One breath can kindle love within the chest,

A hurried sigh, a laugh that lights the skies;

The whispered vows on which a heart finds rest,

The hush of awe reflected in the eyes.

Yet breath can thin, can falter into shade,

A shallow ghost that clings to lips in vain;

The same sweet air by which our joy was made

Turns cold and yields to memory and pain.

For every breath is a gift and a guarantee:

A spark of life, and its mortality.

Sonnet 2: Of Breath and Love

In one breath, a quivering inhale rose,

A fragile note that lingered on my tongue;

The words I love you bloomed despite my throes,

A steady chord too certain to stay unsung.

In one breath, our harmonies took flight,

Sweet nothings drifting gently to your ear.

With laughter, sighs, soft melodies of night,

Each phrase composed to draw our spirits near.

But every song fades, though echoes prolong,

Our rhythm faltered, shadows claimed the score.

I clung to hope within our failing song,

And begged the silence: grant me one breath more.

In one breath, I loved her.

In one breath, she was gone.

Sonnet 3: Of Breath and Identity

Breathe in, breathe out—pretend they cannot see,

This body built for someone else’s claim;

Short hair, powder shaped masculinity,

A hidden self kept silent under shame.

A binding cloth that robs my breath away,

Each tightened wrap constricts the chest I bear.

He’s in there still, though gasping in decay.

A name unspoken drowns beneath the air.

But with the needle’s pierce, fear yields to fire,

A flame that settles deep beneath the skin;

The pulse begins to match the heart’s desire,

My body shifting to where my soul has been.

When breath proclaims what history cannot damn:

I live, unmasked, and proud of who I am.