in your pocket i tell her
as we set
out for a walk
in the howling wind.
fifty mile an hour gusts
the excited weatherman
says on the morning
broadcast,
and he's not whistling
dixie.
we get outside and away
she goes,
her thin, gaunt vegan
body is suddenly
airborne,
flying like a paper airplane
in the sky.
she tumbles off into
the clouds,
the wind carrying her
body off into the distance,
like a kite,
disappearing with
a whispering, help me
cry. but too late,
i continue on for coffee,
oh well, back to the drawing
board
on another soul mate.
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