Crossing the Pond

It’s about 0300pm

and im strapped in.

I’m comfortable and leaning back,

with magic edibles stashed in my sack.

Instrumentals snap my synapse

and hysterically arrange my vocabulary.

I’m soaring through the skies,

while dosed out of my mind.

Testing to see,

if i can get higher than astronaut pussy.

A stewardess’ stare, reflecting on my screen’s glare,

will cause some turbulence up in this air.

I’m on full throttle from tiny whisky bottles,

waiting in line for a club that’s “Mile High.”

With no companion in sight,

I sit tight through this transatlantic flight.