I'd trace the wrinkles in your skin
until they resemble trails that
create a national park,
and you become protected,
and no human can tear you down.

To be away in airplanes
where the blur between
the sky and the sea
is the most comforting place to be.
I'm sorry I can't be there.
You know that my insides
will press against my skin
harder and harder and
I will try to hold it all in.
But I burst apart, if I am to remain so still.
Maybe the day we stay, and remain,
the sun and the moon will collide.

I know I am alive by the shake of my bones
from the vibrations in the airport.
The only touch I yearn to feel
is my back against the wall of sun coated windows.
I slide my way down,
and let the dust particles in the sun beams comfort me.

I know I am already dead,
because how nice would it be
if these vibrations broke the glass into thousands
of tiny blades against my shoulders
and hot air engulfed me,
so I was ****** away with the airplanes.

And somewhere in between all this,
I remember the light on your skin,
and how it fills me.
How you helped me to bury the clouds
of some unwelcome memories.
And the only reason I am here
leaning against the warmed, solid glass,
is because you've made the skies clear.