Flight 33
The mystery of him
would remain
unsolved
and for
the first time,
in a long time,
she no longer cared.
She ran out of excuses
when she watched
her beauty fade,
jet lagged and cracked
by his sky.
He would land soon in Memphis,
black bags resting stoic by the eleventh gate. A kid or a killer depending on the position of the moon or the amount of whiskey in his skin.
The killer was the red line,
the choking arrow pointing
true North.
Letting it go,
her intense desire,
changed the chemistry
of her blood, thickened it.
She closed her eyes
at the exact time
he boarded the plane.
distance their final goodbye
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