Fogged glass is a brick wall,
impenetrable looking out,
impervious to the inside.
Tonight I am Casanova,
Cyrano, Romeo and Don Juan.
My senses are ablaze.
My eyes, lips and fingers are feasting,
Hard to believe I’m in a car
behind the airport with a girl named Marta.
I am not Casanova.
I’m not even that guy from American Pie.
“Suck me beautiful” indeed.
The roar from a plane overhead breaks our hypnotic,
heavily scented fugue-state.
We’re here because we’re young, insidious,
and want nothing more than to ruin our community
with our lustful ways.
I’d rather laugh with the sinners
than cry with the saints.

We are as sinful as seraphim.
My lips melt into hers,
her body liquefies with my touch.
There’s tension in the air, if not in our bodies
as if we’ve only got one chance at this.
Our only regret will be that we did what we had so longed to do.
J’reve les yeux ouverts. 1
Even dreaming, the planes dance overhead in the night.

1 French – I dream with my eyes open.