Wishing on a Plane
Written on a flight to New York.
I don’t know who are
the couple sitting next to me.
They speak an entirely alien
language – perhaps the
speech of star-crossed lovers.
His face shines radiance,
with eyes that dream of
dappled sun and champagne
in Barbados;
she glows with hair
that embraces her
like a waterfall over silky rock.
Each consumes the other’s lips;
each encloses the other
with secrets shrouded in their souls;
each dares to colour
the other’s heart with tearful confessions.
Meanwhile,
I sit gawping at loops of tired rom-coms,
eating plastic plane food
and dreaming of starry nights
on the Brooklyn Bridge.
