I'm (not really) Going Away

How many nautical miles 
do I have to traverse
before I can leave behind 
the aftertaste of my city-state?
The inspiration (or desperation)
steeps in grammes of paper and millilitres of ink.
Spent, from creating a universe 
of countless worlds and people, still I persist –
doggedly plodding through words and sighs
burning calories and midnight oils.

The air-conditioning blasts me goodbye.
No matter what goosebump-inducing degrees,
every Changi visit is a familiar sort of thrill
so I have gladly left home 
in my shortest of sleeves, barely functioning 
on the current of adrenaline.
The number of frames per second on my phone
will not be enough, I know, but then again –
how many square metres of heart room 
do I wish to make, and how many do I keep to here?