Like Monsters

I love the scent of the inside of your lungs.
And while I picture it clinging to the fleshy walls of your insides,
as it reluctantly races for an escape,
I find myself envious of where it will end up.
Once it makes its way through your mint lips,
it could potentially travel anywhere it pleases.
I scramble to try and collect it all into my own lungs,
taking the deepest of breaths in until I feel lightheaded and see colors.
Breathing you in deep leaves me breathless somehow though.
Hunched over with fatigue and with quiet frustration,
over anyone who's lucky enough to breath in even the slightest of your scent,
I've become numb to sharing the majority of you but not this.
To me they are thieves and I make them out to be scary and forceful.
Like monsters but I fear nothing.