Horizon

When we saw the blue of mountains
We postponed seeing of our horizon
In the fluffy silence of cotton in ears.
The plane rang with a hostess in red.
We never would reach our horizons.
All she asked was to wear seat belts.
Soon we will be in decrepit carousel
Until our bags are full with the hole.
The horizon will be hole in memory
Like the smile on the hostess in red.

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