Bags half-packed,
sitting in his favorite chair.
Reflecting in firelight.

The future stirred.
These are the end
of your tomorrows.

May we take your order?
How would you like
your goose prepared?

With wings, he asked.

Once more,
to sleep in his own bed
to kiss her lips,
smell her hair
then go once more

to the sky.

11/29/2004

Posted on 11/29/2004
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