They ended up sharing a row, where an old woman
Who'd been in the inner seat demanded a new window
Her's was loosing magnification during takeoff until she could barely see a damn thing
She'd end up exactly 180 degrees with the TV
The young woman left behind, deflated with the brief "hi" to the young man who traded seats
And after a while
"What's your name? And what do you do [?]?"
He pulled out what appeared to be deck of little cards
But were really self-portraits, taken over the years
"I'm a poet," he gagged on the words
He was working on an experiment
To climb his way to the top of the writer's block
He'd only try to write while flying
Which he felt somehow alleviated [?] til the ground
He explained this slowly, between swallowing
She worked for the weather department of a major news corporation
She was the one with the job of naming hurricanes
And could not recall the last time she had headed west by plane, the Atlantic a magnet
"It's nice, I have a night-view with the troposphere."
She was accustomed to the dark beneath tidal waves and God's rage
There was a chance of a storm below them
Though originally from California, he moved to where the weather [?] on the East Coast where he once spent an entire relationship exchanging the Common Core
Although he wore the kind of shoes that hardly parted carpet
She liked him in the same way her favorite star was a planet
"So show me something," she said in a whisper loud enough to make the older woman [?]
He unzipped his briefcase and pulled out his notebook
Slipping his whole hand under the sheets as he turned each one slowly
She blushed at the nude pages *an apology over the buzz [?]*
When her turn swung back, she gave the old a-truth-be-told
She looked forward to traveling mostly because she was having an affair with the sea
These natural disasters of late were - "Quiet" *shhh*
He stopped her as she finished to admit he's had rocky relationships with other people [?]
By midnight, eastern time, a disorder developed between them
They shared an overhead light and later a last blanket
And when the cabin lights dim
Who could actually see the electricity between them?
She awoke a couple of times to the sound of him scribbling tornadoes
He awoke a couple of time to the sound of her crossed legs taking shifts
And when the cabin lights dim
Who could actually see the electricity between them?
And when the cabin lights dim
Who could actually see the electricity between them?