The Lounge of No Departures

In the airport bar
he was wearing my eyes;
circles ripped with hurricanes.

The wind reached for my hand,
saw me old,
took contradictions & splashed them
on my brow.

Should I make them valentines;
the trails, the test?

One loves more. One loves less.

This ring we’re in; let them lose, win?

In the airport bar
he was wearing my eyes;
circles ripped with hurricanes

but there was no one left
to leave or land for,
anymore.

Less; just more of less.

7 thoughts on “The Lounge of No Departures

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