Poem #27: Spirit

The olives I’m eating on this flight taste like success.

The brine, divine,

The meat, metallic

Like a mouthful of gold coins.

The champagne I’m drinking tastes like success.

Dry like the hot towel you’ve been handed in first class.

Crisp like a man’s white, collared, starched shirt.

The air I’m breathing smells like success.

Warm and breezy like the beach.

Musk-filled, clean, and confusing, like a wealthy man’s cologne.

And then I land.