A simple draft of air in the lungs
like I’ve done a billion times.
Exhale to hum a song I’ve sung
that calms with comforting rhymes.

In and out and rise and fall,
to feel my stomach be moved
and breathe through fears and all
‘til wrinkles of worry be smoothed.

I almost fell down the pit
But I was held up by a thousand strings
I was glad they saved me
But not the pain it brings

It took every muscle to hold me up
For the strings, I had to carry them all
But maybe I want a break
Maybe for once I want to fall

My body is safe. It is safe to relax.

The fountain is clear,

I dry myself with some grass --


The nightingale sings.

The evenings rang true at a time when we would engage in snooker or chess in the lounge, late into the night, waiting for daybreak to shine through.

On the weekends we would gather and watch the cricket begin: shirts versus skins on Emerald Green. Men versus women. The mens’ ******* seemed to ripple in the weekend air.

Mid-morning was reserved for artistic endeavours— honing our artistic sensibilities: a decidely symbolistic manner of preparition in which we would prepare. We would recite lines and manifest Shakespeare there, at the cusp of Emerald Green.

The house has new sounds,

a harmony: languages --


dance, and skin colours.

Reading some homework
The day seems like artwork
Has the sky ever been so blue

Three guys toss a frisbee
perilously near me
shirtless boys silhouetted in turquoise

We’ve got our shades on
We pretend not to watch em’
But we know they’re putting on a show.

We’ve got fold up recliners
and we set a timer
to move to the shade in a minute or two

But the sun seems distracted
cooler and less radioactive
dozens of students are out on the quad

The trees aren’t just standing
the breeze has them dancing
to ‘Blood in the Cut’, a song by ‘K.Flay’

On this cool, near-fall holiday
We’ll while our day away
each of us claiming a chance to relax

Now that we’re juniors, we know the facts
We get that there’s still a lot of reading to do
but we know, we can have a little fun too.
What else would you expect us to do?

Happiness: the joy

of the quiet awareness --


of your existence.

You are so soft and delicate
your skin in my hand
your full light weight
your warm longing

for the ecstasy of when
your bronze body
was immortal in Verona
and I, kneeling for you

between your legs, dissolved
in love. Slowly
after the fast moving
my hands stroked the scent

smoothly out over you and defenceless
I lay down next to you
on the bed in the quiet room
in the centre of the city

with the angular merlons
The evening brings coolness
while I'm looking at you
looking at you