Spaces in Air

You do not know how this moving and unmoving
On airplanes and buses and pieces of old luggage
Makes me feel like a piece of warm clay
That dries and cracks when it’s touched by
A different airport chair and then
Softly melts into a form-square, or nicely curved or a mean little triangle.
When it touches me, I am jealous
Because you are not here
To be jealous for me.
When someone, old men, or young
Reach for their seatbelt beside me
I imagine you watching us from a distance
And burning, burning, burning
Like a piece of red, left-over coal, .
Moist and Molten.
Both, at the same time.
The same air, that finds its way inside our bodies
And touches our heart, and lungs and blood and womb
Yours and mine
You inhale it and melt in anger
I sip it and it comes out
In wet patches of your anger around my eyes and my legs.
The same air, my love.
The same.