Tuesday, February 22, 2011

I wrote a poem for myself

But you can read it. No, really, it's ok. Then we'll be the only two people in the universe who have read this poem. Until I become famous. Fame = all bets are off.

It's not hard to understand
the enchantment that I feel
when I crack open the window
and cold night air so gently
trickles and drips into
my room
bringing with it the smell
of wood fire and cigars

Ok. So I'm pretty sure they're actually cigarettes (my peers don't typically smoke cigars outside my window), but that would've thrown the whole poem off and I'll be damned if I let a couple of inconsiderate late night smokers ruin my dorm experience any further than they already have.

No comments:

Post a Comment