Through the revolving door of autumn,
I dodge the clicks of business in heels,
nearly crash into the tropical vacation of a man's shirt,
coming home to a seat near the baggage claim.
When the departures are too hard to watch â€”
like otters who drift apart in sleep
because they made one failed move and
forgot to lock arms â€” I turn to the arrivals.
The waiting, they ï¬ll with light
at the reunion. See it in their eyes,
and radiating off of them
in salient waves of passion.
The happiness is tangible. At this moment,
my own heart sprouts wings,
and I, with loneliness as my only luggage