I use up

most of my love
in airplanes.

Spending it liketokens at theLocal arcade.

The engines hum,the wings thrum,the guttural startof take-off.

I never buy intothe $10 sandwiches,and only gingerly sipat my ginger ale.

It is in thosetight seats —Cramped and awkwardfor the long-limbed,

that I always fail to dozewithout waking witha neck kink orOtherwise. I’m up at 39,000 feet of
altitude, so I
inevitably end up
thinking of you. Running throughthese past paths,flying overregulated routes.

How was I, 80 years beforewhen I saw your face?How was she, 250 years prior,when she saw his? I sit in a chair thathas held countless stories,cupped fragile loves,cradled forgiveness. In the span of three hours,Aeons go by beforeI can again wear your scenton the nape of my neck. My breaths are exchangedwithin the dry,Pressurized air of the cabin. Before I debarkto greet your strangefamiliar face again,I question if I’m justchasing the fumes ofexhaust ghosts.

Do you remember how you said you loved me?

I spend my lovethinking of our love and how it wasbefore I had to spend it 

in airplanes.