Cruising Altitude: Thirty-Four Thousand Feet
We sit, our seatbelts buckled
In two neat rows
And as two lovers hold hands across the aisle
I sit as a witness of their holy matrimony.
They were preparing to rise from the earth
And in that moment, I saw life in their hands.
Fingers forming a raft in the narrow strait between waves of people
Flesh touching in the quiet alley of a sleepy but sad romantic road
The kind covered in cobblestones that would stumble your feet.
And the caress of fingertips in the empty aisle of an organic hipster store–
A quiet respite from the throngs of hungry and prying eyes.
I saw their soul clasped together
In moments where the darkness fell
Into the hallowed earth and birthed a constellation of galaxies
Stretching far, far into the abyss above.
And at cruising altitude, they finally let go
Two hearts sitting next to each other
Content and safe in the knowledge
Of being up in the air.