All the love leaks out
even before death,
love visits me again.
on the last flight of my life,
she waves at me from an old couple.
when they announce the drop in cabin pressure,
they look at each other and grin, promptly ignoring
their oxygen masks.
their fingers intertwine, and they close their eyes.
their smiles never leave.
i feel her glance at me,
from a young mother,
who ties the mask on her daughter
just before slumping on the ground,
lifeless now.
she had heard the hostess before, hadn't she?
she dances around me,
in the seat to my left,
where a frantic boy
whips out the picture of a dog from his back pocket,
and presses it against his chest.
a single tear stains the photograph.
his mask remains suspended,
forgotten.
before the plane crashes,
and death takes us away,
love visits us again.