Transoceanic

I'm on this transoceanic flight
listening to your melancholic verses,
allowing the sound of your voice
to bring you here, like this,
in the most definite way.

You gave me your sleeping pills as a gift,
you gave me your synthetic oracle,
a strange method
of quenching thirst, here,
far away from your teardrop.

And one does not remember
up to what point
one was born for this,
nor all the love
which you can have access to.

Nothing seems to turn the page
on this longing,
that is everything but languid.
What is the logic of your
magnificent mouth opening to me?

Give me peace and give me vertigo,
come to fill my few lucid hours,
strange method
of quenching thirst, here,
far away from your teardrop.