Fleeing civilization, soaring so high

our wings scratch at heaven’s cheek.
With our minds bored by magazines
and depicted plans for fast escapes

my hand slithers beneath this blanket
to duck below the darkness,
searching for it, for you.

Do forgive me for I could not help
but grin like a child committing
the perfect cookie jar-crime.

That old man on the isle, clueless!
Our cotton veil beating
like a warrior’s chest,

in sync with these silent gasps
splashing about the cabin.

As for all the others?
They’re just simply
waiting to land.