i have always wanted to pick you up at the airport
somewhere between exiting security and the baggage claim
you would be walking towards me
our eyes would meet at exactly the right moment
or maybe
i would see you first, would see your tired eyes
and the heavy bag in your hand before
you would see my face light up with pleasure
at being reunited:
in the least realistic of these fantasies i am wearing
something inexplicably sexy, perfect makeup,
something that would make me look skinny.
maybe this is why
the fantasy can't ever be fulfilled, though you and i
cross the miles between us so regularly:
i am not skinny, my mascara
regularly runs and clumps, and i won't wear heels
when i know i'll be traipsing down long hallways
before clambering back towards public transit,
and flying makes us both
too tired to recognize pleasure in reuniting.
i have always wanted to pick you up at the airport
as a perfect person, offering a perfect home,
though i am not, and cannot.
this does not prevent me from lighting up
whenever you enter the room, and you have never failed
to come back to me.