Flight

 

 

 

I’m cloud filled

jet rises, you return

as always: a phantom

buoying me up.

 

I rely on your

insentient presence

it gets emotional

touching strata

 

remembering us.

 

This is economy

no stream lined

left turn blasé

white napkin

 

for your daughter now.

 

I relinquish hold

as turbulence

bounces: if I

died up here

 

at least you’d

find pieces

of me

drifting.

 

Cloud filled

you slip through

my fingers: I wait

for your face

 

to haunt me.

 

 

Listen here 

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