Fourth airport
in two days.
Double bourbon
in a concourse bar.
Two Camels
in seven minutes.
My head’s a rose petal
singed at its edges,
last scrap of a full bloom.
Two hours of airtime
still to come.
Then, the drive home —
with one stop
for one kiss.
Every stop’s been
progressively colder
except for this last one:
a life-drop wrapped in an embrace,
softening me
back toward myself.
Dark Matter 
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