sitting next to me she pointed to the keychain - smiling with a stranger like giggling at recess, how lucky, how lucky
the sky was not there when i went to the courtyard but instead a new set of stairs to a new set of bricks and cold quesadillas
i always thought loitering meant staying the night but i promise to tarry forever, how lucky, how lucky, i shouldt say such things i know, but how hard to resist when i hear someone on the other side on the other pane of glass, oh how lucky, how lucky, i look forward

though just a patchwork poem of different lines,
this sonnet shall begin my journal still.
it lacks in structure, not in rhythm or rhyme
and serve it's purpose i am sure it will.

"a journal?" you may say, and ask "what for?"
and i reply "i got bored on a plane"
my grandfather suggested that the lore
that university brings should be lain

within these pages, if i ever write
these out on paper which i may just do
once i return from durham and alight,
this metal bird that brings me there unto.

i don't recall how many lines to add,
though with this quad i think i shall be set
my future works will be more thought ahead,
and probably not from inside a jet.

all things considered, i quite like this poem,
and if my father asks, i'd surely show'im.