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