tell me we're not just a midair collision

I'm sure you think I'm sick
when I tell you I think it's cool
you're going to be on the news
but that's what I get
for not paying attention
to the pictures you sent me

You tell me to take photos
of the plane crash
since we're both here  
bent metal, broken glass
petrol fumes still floating upwards
though they've disconnected
the electrics
so there'll be no fire tonight

I'm sure they screamed
before the pilots' blood hit
the dashboard
ambulance, helicopters
news crews hovering like vultures
and here I am
trying to find the best angle
in the aftermath
like someone staged
this macabre artwork
just for me

And I'd kiss you if I had the courage
but I don't
and the echoes of what happened here
are still whispering across my skin
in the silent grave where no one died
and I'm a little unnerved by how much
this destruction turns me on

So perhaps it's the petroleum air
still blowing in my direction
that's got me losing control of my heartbeat
but I swear I could fall in love with you
under this wide blue sky
where your smile is endless
and I can't pinpoint
the exact shade of your eyes
tomorrows scrap metal modern art
lost in the background
ready to burn with
all the colours of the setting sun

© Indie Adams 2016