Violently pastel sky
Setting sick notions array;
Paletted and popped
On my tongue like a pill,
Transcending the clouds
With no adhesive thrill.
But pure ecstasy
Without a narcotic push;
An annihilation
Of the dark space -
The gold hour rush.
Beyond the burgundy
Gore of my thoughts,
An alchemic rusting
Of my previous haunts;
Shooting from the pessary -
The airline budget strand,
He looks at me brightly
As I hold tightly his hand.
Talking of the future
We race through the sky,
No chase for elation
Naturally,
Ending the flight on a high.
