fear of flying

24 May 2014

 

 

like cooing pigeons, we flutter,

then mate,

await the perfunctory report,

a nervous laugh,

a knowing smile,

that silent questioning need

to survey truth,

eyes meeting,

minds slightly wandering

between selfish and sufficient,

like a compass needle stuck

on magnetic North,

still, we arrive, our destination,

the journey itself a treat,

remembered revelations,

across the canvas of your face,

the coos and squeaks and silent sighs,

I’m not quite so afraid to fly.