i am driving to the airport in reverse, crying
aching at how lonely my spine will be, without your body
behind me
an unbound book.
the fear of empty
cold
hands
yours are always so warm.

a plane lands backwards from Iceland to Dunedin.
you arrive.
i kiss you and hug you and kiss you and hug you
and tell you goodbye.
we enter a bookshop,
“it’s your flight, petal, time to go”
we only find overpriced Sudoku books.
we look at socks.
we drink drinks, then buy them.
we go down the escalator back to front,
we take the stickers off your suitcase.
i drive back to your house with
you in the front seat, beside me.
we unpack the car,
go up the path
pat your cat goodbye
put your clothes away
your posters back on your wall.
get back into bed
we come
and then we ****.