of love and the UK border control

there is a voice that winds
the tightness in my chest,
that whispers over all
the reassuring smiles, all
the sympathetic offers of,
“you two will find a way.”

there is a voice that whispers
louder than the gust
a passing locomotive leaves
at the platform louder
than the distant rumble
of turbines on the tarmac,

it whispers cruelly winding
the tightness in my chest
to a point of pain

and of the silence seated
on that leaving train,

and of the shaking quiet
in that moving plane

it whispers,
“it won’t be okay.”

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