I like a seat up near the front
so I can catch the sunset
and watch the city as we glide in.
You say the best seat is over the wing: beauty lies in mechanics, in gravity, machines, and science, in watching how air is spoiled - you explained it all to me once.
I rest my head on you
and feel your warmth
as I watch the clouds glow gold.
Fingers interlaced,
we become a sort of yin and yang. You’re hazel and I’m grey-blue.
You’re clipped and I’m chewed.
You’re the calm and I’m the storm.
Maybe.
But as I look again towards the sun
and think of Mars riding his chariot through the sky,
I know that you're no more him
than I am Venus.
We’re not chalk and cheese; we’re both our own hue.
Whether violet or red:
we're on the same spectrum.
So why does it matter
that we like different seats? Because the best one is always next to you.