Terminal
There is a suitcase in your hand,
And a film of tears blinding your
eyes,
The salt lingers on your lips, my lips
Like a final gift, a reminder of your
presence,
I savour the taste, and sink into the
heat
Our fingertips linger on cheeks and
bare shoulders,
I'm weak and seasick, our hearts
reside in our stomachs,
Deep indigo marks in the crook of
your neck,
The sweet collarbone, your warm
scent
Skin slides past skin as we distance
ourselves,
A distance expanding with each
passing second,
We step back to gaze, eye to eye,
My soul is screaming, can't you hear
it?
You blink, and I want to catch that
tear,
To return it home and break its fall,
It collides with a tiled floor,
I swear I hear it shatter...
The terminal terminates us,
Why else call it that?
Copyright © Amy Al | Year Posted 2013
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