I met you by the bomb-bay doors
where you were cherry red.
You said to "call me later",
but you won't last a day. Instead,
I'll meet you on the ground,
God willing that we land -
though don't try to polish me off
as soon as I can stand.
We'll meet up down the hall a bit,
sneak off and have our fun.
But you won't last as long as me,
three minutes and you're done.
But you'll meet me best of all as I lie asleep in bed,
and you hide me one more time, bar the stench of the dead.