Hot Durban nights.
Naked in the pool.
The Blue Waters.
Ebbing.

Next door, my grandfather tried to hold on to. His wife. Thirsty for oxygen. As I slide off the tilting roof, holding its water as it cast me off.
Into the nearby sea.
You muffled my coughs. The taste of Vicks still won't leave my mouth. But it's one of my fondest memories.

(By the bar where the Rwandan directors smoked dope.
Late night discussions the foolish call art.)

You, me and &*^%.
Your tattoos and little *******.
I thought were perfect.
Modelled after martinis we'd never drink.

(My broken phone kept calling Kote.
Kote panicked with this unknown.
Suspicious of coups.)

The hand cloth towel slipped off your body.
The pool water dripping onto the sheets.

(Our saviour in the township on that night we tempted fate, re-enacting rapes, the terrifying 12 left us, and her girlfriend tried to kiss me, alone in the car)

You walked into my hotel room.
Fourth floor.
You took the bible from the draw.
Fourth floor.
You threw it with a flick.
Fourth floor.
Then you ****** my
Fourth floor
And I fell
Fourth floor




asleep.