#futurepoem

I believe in poems as I do haunted houses. We say, someone must have died here.

Our plane that night cut through sheets of ice, cleanly, and then through clouds. Close to the ground, the sheets turned thicker, the plane's engine started to cough, we sat there each edged in by the fear of death, and also the armrest. How does one survive desire for one another, I asked you, to ease the tension. How does one survive these flights?

English keeps an open tab and never sleeps alone. English is a smooth talker who makes me say please. It's a bit of role-playing and I like a good tease. We have a safe word I keep forgetting. English likes pet names. English has a little secret, a past, another family. English is going to leave them for me. I've made English a set of keys. English brings me flowers stolen from a grave.

Now all the money's gone. We lose our name in its absence. Money as autobiography. As fairytale mirror.