Taking ground

This is but a transient breath of Chanel Mademoiselle, ever so dreamlike. Sun find it's way through the soiled windows of the plane.
It could be a poor poem.
But it's not.
"You shouldn't have had that last drink", the stewardess says.
I shouldn't have been born I want to reply, but the scene is too dramatic already.

All this history. Sweet as honey, deep as dried up blood.

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