Poems

20D In the aisle seat, a young man in a dark suit drifts in and out of dreams. Short hair, long lashes -- he has a profile perfect as a Greek statue's. His hands are resting in his lap, his eyelids twitch, his lips purse and unpurse (as in talking, or a kiss). Nothing's more beautiful than a man asleep. As long as he dreams, I can stare, and dream myself -- of what his chest must look like, how his back curves. We fly over cities together, he in some faraway reverie, me in close contemplation, while fiery orange fades to dull gray outside the window. When we land I see he has a hawk's dark eyes, and chews gum. Undated