Airborne.

by goldywan

July 1, 2013

I use up

most of my love
in airplanes.

Spending it like

tokens at the

Local arcade.

The engines hum,

the wings thrum,

the guttural start

of take-off.

I never buy into

the $10 sandwiches,

and only gingerly sip

at my ginger ale.

It is in those

tight seats —

Cramped and awkward

for the long-limbed,

that I always fail to doze

without waking with

a neck kink or

Otherwise.

I’m up at 39,000 feet of
altitude, so I
inevitably end up
thinking of you.

Running through

these past paths,

flying over

regulated routes.

How was I, 80 years before

when I saw your face?

How was she, 250 years prior,

when she saw his?

I sit in a chair that

has held countless stories,

cupped fragile loves,

cradled forgiveness.

In the span of three hours,

Aeons go by before

I can again wear your scent

on the nape of my neck.

My breaths are exchanged

within the dry,

Pressurized air of the cabin.

Before I debark

to greet your strange

familiar face again,

I question if I’m just

chasing the fumes of

exhaust ghosts.

Do you remember how you said you loved me?

I spend my love

thinking of our love

and how it was

before I had to spend it

in airplanes.

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