Violently pastel sky

Setting sick notions array;

Paletted and popped

On my tongue like a pill,

Transcending the clouds

With no adhesive thrill.

But pure ecstasy

Without a narcotic push;

An annihilation

Of the dark space -

The gold hour rush.

Beyond the burgundy

Gore of my thoughts,

An alchemic rusting

Of my previous haunts;

Shooting from the pessary -

The airline budget strand,

He looks at me brightly

As I hold tightly his hand.

Talking of the future

We race through the sky,

No chase for elation


Ending the flight on a high.


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