In Medias Res

But let's talk about you for a minute
With the vomit at your gullet
From a half bottle of vodka that we'd stolen from the optic
On the back seat in your car,
because it wasn't safe to start it
You were "far too fucked to drive"
were the words you imparted
And the woolen dress that clung so tight,
to the contours of your body
And the dead grass stuck to fibres from us
rolling in the lain-by
Were passed to dog-haired blankets

That protected the bench seat covers
And a crucifix was hung from rear-view
mirror by your mother
I'm leaving my body to science --
not medical but physics
Drag my corpse through the airport
and lay me limp on the left wing

Drop me at the highest point and trace a line around the dent I leave in the ground:
That'll be the initial of the one you'll marry now I'm not around

I flew for seven hours

The sky didn't once turned black
I wake from sleep, my head and shoulder wet against the window
A frost had formed and melted,
soaked me right through to my collar bone
If you were given the option of
dying painlessly in peace at forty-five
But with a lover at your side,
after a full and happy life
Is this something that would interest you?
Would this interest you at all?