How It Ends

     
If I have always loved airports,
for their meetings and their pains, for their
bitter-sweet passings 
of human tenderness;
now I loved them, like the first butterflies
of Spring; 
life 
grew up,
all around me; smiles spread like 
waves over sand,
hands reached, and skin touched skin like it hurt;
some cried,
some gasped,
all ran about spaces between them.

I,
held your longed-for face in my palms,
and kissed you, 
like the stars were falling,
like war was beginning,
like the world
was ending...
And it was spinning, spinning; the 
arrivals hall,
my feet on no solid ground,
summer dress, pressed, tight against your chest,
coconut scent 
beneath neon strip-lights;

and the world saw,
and shyly turned their smiling heads 
in bashful voyeurism 

...and for once, you didn't,
and we didn't care.