Either you are sorting it out, or you are full of it.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Kissing and Telling at A Mile High

I sat in my seat on an airplane, hunched over my tray, writing a poem about you:

You and I made love

In an airliner bathroom

when a giant gust of wind suddenly blew through the stratosphere, knocking the airplane from side to side, causing the pilot to engage in a desperate struggle to right the giant, floating piece of metal, listing like a boat in the swell of a coming storm. I knew it was you coming to scold me. You are a tempestuous lover, for you are the tempest itself. So out of honor and self-preservation,  I put my pen down and grit my teeth for the rest of the flight, hoping that this sudden act of reticence would appease you.

But now I’m on solid ground, and I don’t fear you as much. So I’ll play the braggart, and tell everyone about my conquest:

I made love to the wind in an airliner bathroom.

It was unexpected, I assure you. She blew in quickly through the toilet as I flushed it, materializing before me in a fog, a woman of ineffable proportion, her breasts perked as if shaped by weft of a powerful tornado, areolas wide as the vault of the sky, her skin as light as the lazy clouds on a beautiful summer day, her dark hair fluttering about like snowflakes falling towards the earth, her irises the pale gray of rainclouds, swirling towards the pupils like the eye of great hurricane. She breathed softly in my ear, warm and calm like the zephyr, while I took her in my arms. During the act itself, I swear I felt lighting bolts flow from inside of her throughout my body. Afterward, I trembled, my knees rattling as if possessed by some loud thunder.

It’s been on my mind for sometime now, and I’m glad to get it off my chest. I have a feeling she’ll forgive me because most people will undoubtedly think that this story is just a bunch of hot air.

posted by ferret at 8:55 pm  

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