Please forgive me, your weary traveler
wanting
to go home
with you soaked in my moonlight,
safe & warm under thunderstorm skies.
Your whistle blows; you depart the station
moments before I platform.
You will miss me
crawling
into the hole in the wall, flashing pink neon.
I order myself your drink
because I am a fool for still needing part of you
inside me.
After all these years, I wasted dreams
of schemes for you & me—
summer rollerblading on boardwalks,
feeding ducks in state parks.
I catch you flying off the runway,
leaving me alone
at the bar near the gate.
Perhaps it is all my fault
for waking-up too late.
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