Train to DFW,
      windows doing their best movie impression—

Trinity River flashes by,
              I catch it,
                 send it,
        your reply lands
            like sunrise—

           “fucking yay.”

I grin until my face forgets how not to.

Airport early on purpose,
        the good kind of superstition.

Gate tags play musical chairs—
     C7 → C22 → (who knows)
     so I camp with a spicy Bloody,

     travel talisman in a glass.

Minutes start folding themselves,
                  shirts-squared,
                    socks-rolled,
 carry-on heart zipped to gentle.

Tonight is already practicing in my chest—
        that first breath where your hair smells like the answer,

        the hug that untangles what the week put in knots.

Countdown math:
          Flight → Train → Lyft → Sylvan → Irby’s → You

My favorite itinerary,
   all verbs hiding one noun.

For now, I watch the runway rehearse stillness,
              let the ice sweat down the glass,
    and hold your name on the roof of my mouth
               like the last sweet in the bowl.

If the gate moves again, fine.

If the sky needs coaxing, fine.

I’ve packed patience and a pocket for luck,
    and a seat saved where your laugh fits.

See you on the other side of boarding—
                Spicy Mary in my hand,
                Sweet Mari in my head,

                 …and then in my arms.