Mile High Club

Hot, heavy, kisses in the airport bathroom

Gate U173

One-way flight to Madrid

Our limbs tangled together in a desperate attempt to hold on

To something exotic

He smells of dark, crushed, pomegranate on an early summer morning

His hands are icy, but his fingertips are warm under my shirt

He likes it when I tug at his hair, not too much



Fumbling of belt buckles, zippers, this thong is barely fabric

Black, lace, around my ankles- the shape of roses

How has no one heard us?

His mouth tastes like strong coffee beans

But his tongue tastes like cream

I only understand parts of what he is saying-

Our languages are not the same

The pressure is hard at first, but it will be time to board soon

Panting, strong, breaths

Erect breasts, erect everything

I am not a quiet moaner

His hands are rough as they cover my mouth

We are beyond innocent looks from across the gates

The bathroom door rattles, pounding, as quickly as our heart rates

-but not our heart beats

I see him on the other side of the plane,

His wife was sleeping against the window,

But he could not deny the looks he gave me

The seatbelt light blinks off,

We decide to join the mile high club.


(if by some crazy way you felt you have seen this poem before- you caught me. I originally wrote this on my other blog, ssh. Don’t tell.)


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