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STEARMAN BIPLANE N53478
Here, with you . . .
decades after
slipstreams wound musings around
pilots’ heads and crosswinds were
snapped by urgent tugs of the moon,
I slide shaking fingers
over your taut, satiny body.
And you smile
same as you did in the 40s
with the young men for whom you were
the first.
I touch
the glorious curve of your propeller,
firm struts and landing legs,
your winged arms cradling my fancies and visions.
I smell
your radial engine, feel its juices,
all your wondrous connections,
then slip smoothly into the open cockpit,
press switches, turn knobs, yell, "Contact!"
You stir
and purr, your spinning prop wraps me
in the nutty flavor of your breath.
We climb into ascending dreams
feathered in the cotton of assembled clouds,
embrace and watch as the horizon whirls
until we no longer care,
our hearts sun-splashed, combined into a miniscule
unseen star.
Donald Everett Axinn
from The Colors of Infinity
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