This is a bit sad, in that we can't give breath transplants. And there are those like me, who waste our breath on smoke, yet feel no shortage. Yet we see others who've cherished each and every intake and outtake, who don't take it for granted. I do wish I could give it to them. To someone who would appreciate, truly, the live giving air.
I like the feel of this poem, and the way it's constructed. I like the order, that feeling of desperation that if you just command it, it might happen. Unfortunately words are the very air some people need, and throwing your air around commanding the un-commandable does not ease the suffering.