Student Pilot Accidentally at the Controls of an Aged Convair 440

The tarmac swam beneath us, cold river black 

deepening to onyx as we rose, wobbly-winged, into night

I sat left seat fingertipping the controls, 

Certain of heading and altitude, 

uncertain of the physics of romance

reckless finesse

heart dangling on the struts 

sanity wing-walking above

tethered only by my untamed veins 

and airworthiness of the pilot’s  

chiseled cheekbones and charm

perfuming the cockpit as he dozes

heedless of how I’d flung my vulnerability onto the runway now receding into darkness.